The Pilgrimage
by Counter Spark
Summary: With no where to turn, Charlie decides to trek into the forest with absolutely no intentions of ever going back. But what happens when he falls into the hands of the enemy, and any chance of survival is unlikely at best? CC fic
1. The Pilgrimage

**Title: **The Pilgrimage

**Author: **Counter Spark

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Lost...if I did I would probably be bathing in liquid gold...er something.

**Summary: **With no where to turn, Charlie decides to trek into the forest with absolutely no intentions of going back. But, what happens when he falls into the hands of the enemy, and any chance of survival is unlikely at best? CC fic, pretty angst-ridden but romantic at heart.

**A/N: **This is post Fire and Water, so it's as up to date as possible. With that said, on with the literature!

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The wind bit him with it's sharp, cruel teeth as he ducked into the undergrowth. Charlie Pace was shaking all over, but it seemed almost like nothing compared to the sinking, desolate feeling in his heart.

Oh God, she hated him.

He had never been one with 'friendship' and the like- he hadn't really come into himself until Shaft made it big, and then...well...you know. But he had had a friend; real, whole, and absolutely beautiful. He could remember those days when she was _taken _with him. She had been so full of life, and there was nothing like the lifting sensation in his stomach when she would laugh at all of his corny jokes. He had been so _high, _and this time it was completely natural. No side effects except complete elation.

Then Ethan came along, and put a right stop to that. Looking back, the whole Ethan fiasco seemed like a big, dark, painful blur...all he could remember was the hopelessness as they brought him back to camp with nothing to show of 'bravery' or 'courage'. Just a necklace of bruises.

He would've died for her. He realized this as he lay restless on the salty ground the night they brought him back from the gallows of the jungle. When Jack was pounding on his chest, literally beating away the death, he wondered, were he given the chance, would he have come back? What was your existence without the lady-love you let down? Without her, what was he? The ghost of a man? God himself (whose existence at the moment was heavily doubted) could have held out both hands to Charlie, the left containing his life, the right containing hers.

It wouldn't have taken a sodding second to make that decision. In fact, he would've scolded Mr. Universe for actually believing that he would have to think about it.

Thinking intensely in his haze of sorrow, he tripped over a broken log jutting out into the mass of shrubbery and leaves, falling clumsily into the soft, wet dirt. Grimacing, he pulled his fractured knee close to him and shut his eyes tight. He wouldn't stop. He _couldn't _stop. Desperately he grabbed hold of a loose tree branch and hoisted himself back up, walking blindly into the green mass of nowhere. How long had it been? How long since he left camp? Five days? To him it seemed like an endless nightmare he couldn't escape.

The night of Claire's return had been etched clearly in his mind and his dreams ever since she had indeed returned to him. There was commotion- endless commotion- and suddenly out of the corner of his eye he saw a vibrant flash of bright, blonde hair swinging left to right in the black of the night. Slowly, heart pounding and breath caught in his throat, he turned around to this possible figment of his tortured dreams. But it was no figment, and from then on he dedicated his entire being to protecting her.

Too bad she wouldn't have that.

And now he was quite sure that he was going mad. Bonkers. _Completely schizo. _He was walking blindly into the green abyss, for no apparent reason whatsoever. How long had it been since he had taken a rest? How long had it been since he had actually _eaten? _Days?

But, oddly enough, he felt no hunger and no need for rest. All he felt was the blind desire to flee into the forest and never return, and he had no idea to what he could accredit that reckless desire to. He dedicated his entire being to this mad flight, and he took no notice of whether or not he needed to rest or eat. He had transcended hunger and pain, or so he thought. That's why collapsing in a tired heap on the grass took him completely off guard.

He felt like a limp balloon. 'Damnit', he cursed himself lightly for his lack of strength. After all, wasn't that what landed him here in the first place? He pushed off his endless, self-abusing thoughts and tried to get up, but his arms felt like rubber. Defeated, and hating himself more than ever, he rested his head on a damp pile of leaves.

Almost instantly, he passed out in the hazy coolness of the undergrowth.

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'Shhhh...," she said, wiping the hot tears from his soft cheek. "Your mummy loves yoooou!" This didn't seem to help at all, as Aaron looked up at her with deep-seated confusion in his shiny blue eyes. "Tell mummy what's wrong?"

"Gahhh!" Aaron screamed desperately into the fierce wind, reaching his small, stubby arms into the air.

Sighing, Claire looked into the edgings of the jungle. He'd been a crying mess for the past couple of days, and she knew exactly why. Of course, knowing something in the back of your mind doesn't always mean you're going to acknowledge it's there. So she didn't, and continued to act like she was clueless to Aaron's hissy fits.

But, truth was, she _did _know, full well if she'd stop being a pushover and admit it. One word, a word she'd been trying to chase from her mind for the past 5 days or so, was the answer to her crying child as well as the nightmares.

Charlie. Good old lying, drug-using, baby-stealing Charlie. "Damn you," she muttered lightly in the wind, eyes fixated on the forest. Even as the words escaped her mouth, her heart sunk with guilt, and she knew she didn't mean it. But, what was she to do? He _was _a liar; he _was _a drug-addict, and damn it all to hell, he _did _snatch Aaron out of his crib in the middle of the night, stark-raving mad with all his insane baptism rantings.

But, somewhere in the chasms of her old, worn heart, she felt two things. Firstly there was the guilt, and then came the pity. She would awake in the middle of the night with him on her thoughts, wondering silently: '_Back at home, I would've helped him. I would've reached out a helping hand. Why did I turn him away?_' After all, in this modern age, drug-abusers are usually sympathized with- told gently that 'they have a problem' and then (with the support of friends and family) sent to a friendly rehabilitation center. That's what friends do...they support friends. Driving him away was like driving away a time bomb. And when he imploded, or, more frankly, when she would most likely find him OD'd and dead in his tent, what on earth would she think then, hmm?

And then we approach the prophetic-dream state. What if he was truly having dreams about Aaron dying? If that happened to her, she would hover over her son like a hawk until she was absolutely assured that there wasn't any real danger. How simple would it have been to sit down with Charlie and just..._talk? _To just ask him about the dreams, and listen to what he had to say? But, no, she drove him away, and now he could just as well be buzzard food in the middle of the jungle.

_How does that feel on the conscience, Claire old gal?_

Balancing the wailing Aaron on her hip, she looked once more to the green mass of the jungle, frowning. Outwardly, she wanted it known that she had no part in pitying him. That she could really care less about the man who snatched her baby. But, deep in her heart one solitary sentence was beating frantically over and over; a cry of desperation:

_Oh Dear God, please let him be okay._

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He awoke to the sound of a snort, approaching his ears with echoing horror. Opening his bleary eyes slowly, he was met with one of the most terrifying images he'd ever witnessed.

Boar.

Kicking up dirt wildly, the hairy adversary snorted into the air, eying Charlie with growing violence. His small, black eyes radiated malice, and Charlie's heart nearly stopped dead in his tracks.

_Run, you crazy fool, _he thought, fear pounding his mashed brain. _What are you doing...RUN!_

But he knew full well what he was doing. He could hardly even move, and he felt an overwhelming swoop of nausea and fear that seemed to cement him to his spot.

The boar began to approach, sniffing angrily and somehow looking disappointed at Charlie's lack of action. His tusks glinted in the fading sunlight- his heavy hooves pounding the soft dirt.

_Now, _he thought manically as he shifted in the wet leaves. Charlie, with all his fading strength, managed to propel himself to his wobbling feet. _You have to run now. _Truth was, running wasn't going to bode so well on an injured leg and an empty, exhausted body, and he knew it. But he had to try.

He could've sworn the boar smiled at him as he swiftly turned his head and started to bolt.

Immediately he was struck with a thunderclap of sheer, excruciating pain in his knee every time his foot fell on the jungle floor. He felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to fall into a heap on the soft, inviting ground, but the huffed, stressed breathing of the boar right behind him urged him otherwise.

His legs were like rubber- hollow and non-existent. All he knew was that he was still moving...and...well...that was at least something. The boar cried wildly behind but he still flew through the trees with such dumb-luck that it had to be magic.

Of course, he should've known that the odds of escape were miniscule, but hope flared like a wildfire in his heart, and for a few bright moments, he thought he might be free.

This was foolishness, though.

Suddenly he felt something hard and cold ram into his back and sent him flying feet into the air. He had failed.

Gut instincts told him to scream- to shout for help be it all far, far away. But then he would have to chose between rescue and pure, hard shame. What if they _did_ hear him? Would he rather face their questioning, never-understanding stares, or death by slaughter?

Downtrodden and more angry with himself than he had ever been, he was silent as the roaring boar ran at him and drove his tusk into his side. He did not cry out.

_This is it, _he thought in agonized pain. _So ends the life of Charlie Pace- the man who's life made everyone feel better about their own. _He closed his eyes and braced for the final '_squish' _as the boar would drive his tusks into his still-beating heart.

But oddly enough, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Charlie could hear the sounds of the boars labored breaths retreating, trotting away into the undergrowth. Amazed, he shot open his eyes and craned his neck to look at the boar. Their eyes met for a moment, and the boar regarded his crumpled, bloody figure with disinterest as it walked away.

He didn't have time to rejoice, because the pain was overpowering. Glancing down at his pierced side, he watched with numbed horror as blood slowly streamed from his body onto the wet grass, like thin, red ribbons. _Alright, _he thought, strangely amused, _now ends the slightly delayed life of Charlie Pace, the man who was killed by a bloody wild boar. _His eyes fluttered shut.

Charlie Pace's body wouldn't be found for two hours.

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**Next time: **Is Charlie dead? And, since you mentioned it, who found his body? And dangit, _what is up with Claire_? You will surely find out in the next installment of 'The Pilgrimage'.

**A/N: **Hello, lovely readers. Might I say you all look dashing today. Okay, I won't use compliments to grovel for reviews...instead I'll just...grovel. (?) Anyway, any reviews or questions or comments would seriously be greatly appreciated, and I can't wait to deliver the next chapter! Trust me, I got some good ideas brewing in this head of mine.

-Counter Spark


	2. A World in Red

**Disclaimer: **Contrary to popular belief, Counter Spark does not own Lost, nor Charlie, although she heavily wishes she did on a daily basis. And yes, she intends on having a wacky disclaimer for every chapter.

**Thanks for the reviews: **Thanks everyone for the reviews, nothing gets me more motivated. And in a special note to Shadow of Dusk, I guess we will find out later whether or not I am truly a "evil witch" gee, hee, hee, I'm killing you aren't I?

**A/N: **Here is the next installment of "The Pilgrimage." I am going to try to get at least one new chapter up every week, unless I am suffering through writers block (which doesn't seem plausible at the moment), or if my computer starts acting up. Also, I have been having troubles with for a while with submitting things, but hopefully that'll go away, and if it doesn't I might have to do this at the library before school. But, anyway, enough of the jibber-jabber, as the Great Mr. T once said, and on with the literature!

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Charlie lay unconscious on the jungle floor, his blood slowly forming into a sopping red puddle beneath him. He was alone, except for maybe the number of squirrels and other scurrying jungle creatures who sniffed at him incessantly, wishing he would die already so they could call the gang over and feast on his tasty remains. But alas, he was not dead...at least not yet...and the feeding frenzy would have to wait until he was. None of them wanted to risk the chance of him waking up and attacking, although to be honest, he didn't look at all frightening. He was skin and bone, and not even the orange little fire ants were worried about the 'wrath of the human', because there didn't seem to be any left in this one.

They watched him behind the bushes, eyes piercing like a bat's in the dark. They _studied _him. Was he the one they had been watching ever since flight 815 crash-landed on their bygone little island? Was this...Charlie Pace? The man known as Zeke signaled to his right-hand man (they called him Freddy) to go ahead and pull him out of his little puddle of misery. He was harmless as harmless could be, and he would no doubt be a nice little addition to their already-formed scheme.

A slow, toothy grin spread on Zeke's rosy cheeks. Oh my, this _would _be interesting.

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"Charlie!"

Aaron was awakened by the sound of his mother screaming into the infinite black of the summer night. Although he could not exactly make out what had escaped her lips (and even if he did he wouldn't understand it anyway), it frightened him immensely, and it was this fright that sent him into yet another crying fit.

Claire's heart was playing jump rope in her chest, leaping up and down and up and down in a never-ending, frantic pace that was driving her mad. Her hands trembled as she drew them to her chest, closing her eyes tightly and trying so desperately to forget the torturous nightmare. But, as she guessed, it was of no use. A human couldn't see those kind of things and just forget. They were imprinted in her brain now, and in agonizing thought, she realized that what she had seen would be holding place in her mind for quite a long time.

The world had been green, from the sky to the tips of her toes, and she had been walking. It had taken a minute for her to realize that she was in the jungle again...a place that had been off limits to her for quite sometime now. She was surrounded by voices- endless, rising voices- all sounding so near, as though she could feel the breaths of every word blowing softly in her ear. Suddenly, her weary feet left the ground, and she was rising up into the green sky.

She had tried to speak, but when she opened her mouth all that would come out was white, smoky vapors. Astounded, she looked behind her and found that she was...oh my...she was _a bird! _Tawny wings had sprouted from her back, and she could feel them expanding behind her, taking her farther and farther into this dream-world.

Only thing was, this didn't seem like a dream at all. When she caught herself in a dream, Claire had always been able to snap out of it, but this...it seemed more real than anything she had ever experienced in her life.

Then, in the bottom of her eye, she saw him; a black little dot in a sea of leaves. Spreading her magnificent wings, she let the wind carry her down to him...her love. She reached him quickly, and he was smiling, holding Aaron firmly in his arms. She tried to say something like I Love You, but all that resulted was another stream of hot, white vapor. So, she kissed him softly on the cheek and gazed down upon her child- _their _child, who was already in the depths of a deep and peaceful slumber.

Then it started to rain, and Claire, who had always loved rain since she was a little girl, spread her arms out and opened her mouth. She could remember with such astounding clarity her childhood back in Australia, with her father standing behind the front porch, watching his daughter dance in the rain. Heart burning with love, happiness, and nostalgia, she was filled with an overwhelming, undeniable desire to grab her man and make love to him in the rain...that is before a terribly bitter taste filled her mouth and instantly interrupted this desire. Was it...?

Blood. It was raining blood.

In complete and udder horror, she watched as the crimson beads trickled down her hands in such a terribly slow fashion. Blood was thicker than water. Suddenly the world was no longer green- it was red.

The moment she looked up at Charlie, her heart skipped a beat. He seemed completely unaware that they were both being coated with layers and layers of rose red blood; his eyes were transfixed on Aaron. Behind him she could dimly make out a black figure approaching, arm raised in the air, holding a long, silver dagger, glinting fiercely in the blood-rain.

Claire tried to call out to him, but only a thin wisp of white air escaped. She tried to reach out to him, but her wings wrapped themselves around her, and she couldn't move, trapped in a cell of feathers.

The strange man drove his dagger into Charlie's heart, and she watched as the blood erupted from her lover's chest. It was hard to tell what blood was his and which belonged to the sky. Aaron screamed, and this time it was real sound, not a puff of wind. It was real, terrible, and screeching...his cry echoed in her heart as she watched Charlie become limp and collapse on the red jungle floor.

The man laughed, menacing and coldly, and she awoke to the sound of her own screaming...closely followed by Aaron's.

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"Claire?" Sun appeared in the flap of her doorway, alarm shining in her soft, slanted eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Has Charlie come back?" Claire's chest was falling at such a rapid rate that she considered the offhand chance that she might suddenly endure heart failure. The question didn't seem to register with Sun, and Claire grabbed the woman's narrow shoulders. "Sun, has Charlie come back?"

Her answer was slow and cautious. "...No." She reached out and with the back of her hand gently touched the young mother's cheek. "Are you...okay, Claire?"

She burst into tears. "No, Sun. I'm not okay."

The beautiful Asian woman took Claire in her arms and let her wet tears absorb into her cotton blouse. She did not know what to make of this now, but she knew one thing.

Something was wrong.

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"Boss, is he...dead?"

Freddy's eyes were large and sphere-like, radiating innocence as well as complete ignorance. He looked to the bearded man the way a son looks to his father, accepting whatever the latter would say as words of wisdom. Zeke did not look at him when he answered- he seemed preoccupied with his pant leg.

"Nah, Fred. He will be though if we don't do something right and quick. Here." The older man handed Freddy half of his right pant leg, the old worn material dirty with soil and blood. "Try to stop the bleeding."

As Freddy lifted Charlie's shirt and gazed down at his wound with astounded terror, he asked Zeke a question. "Why do we want him alive?"

He answered: "You'll see, Fred. You'll see."

Zeke snapped his head to the right and called out into the trees. "Hey, Bette! You got the stuff?"

As soon as he called out, a woman appeared from the mass of trees, her shapely body seeming out of place in such a barbaric looking scenery. "You bet I do." As she answered, her deep brown eyes lingered on the man who lay unconscious on a large tree stump. "...Who's _that?" _Her eyes were drawn in disgust and horror to his gaping wound that was still dripping blood freely, as well as his deteriorated state.

"He's from 815. I've seen him around, snooping in the forest and whatnot. He doesn't know it, but he's a very valuable commodity to them." Zeke watched tenderly as Freddy tied his pant leg around Charlie's stomach, ceasing the wild blood flow considerably. Without looking at the woman beside him, he held out his hand and within a second there was a small, tied-up bag filled with a grainy brown substance. "Time to wake him up."

"What's that?" Freddy said instantly, his bulbous eyes focused on Zeke's hand.

"It's heroine, Fred. It'll wake up him up real quick."

"Well...how come I've never seen it before? Can I use it when _I'm _sleepy?" A smile spread on his wide lips...an innocent smile.

Zeke's face went pale and he swiftly approached Freddy, a serious frown on his haggard face. "Now you listen to me, Freddy. This stuff is _bad_ stuff. I don't _ever _want to see you messing around with it, okay?"

His face looked submissive, yet the young man still did not understand. He nodded and watched curiously as Zeke's eyes stared at him with such serious care, like a father telling his son not to ride his bike without his helmet- _ever._

"Alright," Zeke said soothingly as he patted Freddy's shoulder. With the small bag opened, he calmly walked up to Charlie and looked down upon the blonde-haired man. Deep down he felt pity for him...he had always been there to watch this kid whenever he would hide in the forest, drowning in his sorrow. Zeke was always there watching him...watching when Ethan tied the noose around his neck. He was only a kid, yet he had been through hell, hadn't he? But, if he had learned one thing about survival on this island, it was that pity was deadly.

In a quick, fluid movement, Zeke cupped his hand around Charlie's nose and shoved upward, forcing him to inhale the grainy, brown powder. He was awake in moments, his blue eyes shot open like a shade being pulled up on a window.

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Charlie thought that maybe this was hell...but then again, _would they really have heroine in hell_? He knew it was too much as the blood pumped wildly in his body; the nerves jumping on end. The heart was beating rabidly in his thin chest...he considered the likelihood of it actually propelling from his chest plate like a fish out of water, except this time the water would be his blood. He doubted he had anymore to spare.

But now he was twitching and jumping and totally, totally _high. _It was bittersweet, the breaking of his sobriety. The heroine whispered sweetly in his pulsing head over and over and over: _Did you miss me, Charlie, old buddy old pal? _

In his hazy vision, he could make out two things. First, the green. He was surrounded by it. Secondly, the bearded man, who's deep, thoughtful eyes pierced him like a wild boar.

The man was speaking, but at first he couldn't hear. Then, he strained every fiber of his being to hear the bearded man and the message that formed time and time again.

"_Where is she, Charlie? Tell me, where is she?"_

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**Next time: **Will Charlie spill the beans on Claire's location to the Others? And just how far will they go to get him to? Do Claire's dreams mean anything? Find out in the next installment of "The Pilgrimage"!

**A/N: **Hey guys and gals! Another week, another chapter, as you can see. And now the groveling ensues. Please review me! Or hey, how about I mask my desire for reviews by asking you a question, half because I don't enjoy groveling and half because I'm actually interested. So, here's the question of the week: Other than Charlie and Claire, what's you favorite Lost ship? And if I hear another person saying Kate and Vincent need to get it on, there will be some heads rolling.

-Counterspark


	3. Voice of Reason

**Disclaimer: **I think it's quite firmly established that I do not own the rights to Lost. If so I would've already paid Dominic Monaghan to be my boyfriend, and my writing time would've been devoted to making out with him, thus, this wouldn't exist.

**Thanks for the reviews: **I love all of my reviewers! You are all beautiful people for whom the world envies! Shadow of Dusk, you's a-crazy! In the best way, though. Thanks guys!

**A/N: **Sheesh, it took me a while to finish this one, didn't it? Well, dangit, if I didn't get a brief onset of the worst writer's block known to man. That usually happens when I say it won't, like I did in my last chapter. I have bad luck. But anyway, I got over it a couple days ago, and hopefully you'll like this new chap-a-lap. So, here's the newest installment of "The Pilgrimage"!

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Zeke regarded Charlie's crumpled form the way a judge might regard someone on death row. Sure, they might've landed themselves into whatever crappy situation they were in, but you couldn't help finding your whole conscious getting sucked up into the onslaught of hot, burning _pity_ that occurred every time you gazed down upon the accursed man, destined for nothing more than a sad, painful, and lonely death. And even as he tried so desperately to ward it off, it came to him in thick, hard-to-swallow doses; like huge pills; and every time he could feel it burning away at him, the same words flew in and out of his dazed mind, gnawing at him persistently...almost screaming at him.

_Pity can be deadly_! And he had to remember that, no matter how naive or misled Charlie was. How doomed from the bloody start...

The heroine had kept him up all night and Zeke could tell. He looked like a madman, deprived of both sleep and sanity. And sadly, the bit of sleep that the poor man was getting now was hardly awarding of the title. Zeke could faintly hear the far away mutterings escaping Charlie's lips, the majority of which was complete and utter nonsense. In fact, the boy had given Zeke quite a scare earlier that same morning, when he had just plain out of the blue shouted, "_Mother, they stole the bananas_!" In the middle of the cold black of the jungle. True, the words themselves were not too frightening, but _the way he had said it..._he had screamed those words into the dark haze like a maniac, his voice twitching up and down in sheer insanity. And Zeke had been _frightened._

But now Charlie was silent for the most part, and Zeke much more preferred it that way. The small bag of heroine was itching uncomfortably in his hand, and he knew that it was his duty to once again pull Charlie out of whatever crazy, banana-filled Dream World that he was consumed in, but he could not bring himself to do it. And least not yet. Clinching the sweaty bag, Zeke sauntered away from the sleeping man feeling like a fool for letting his sympathy get the best of him. But as his footfalls sunk lightly into the morning dew, his conscious spoke softly to him, reassuring him that things would still go as planned.

_Just let him get his sleep, that's all. Just a little longer. Than it's Go Time, Banana Boy._

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_Conscious is a terrible thing, _Claire thought as she started to cram her backpack full to the top with plastic water bottles. Did they really call it the Voice of Reason? The lone voice of truth in the disaster which was the modern world? To her, it was like a sickness slowly driving her insane.

It should've been exactly the opposite. The untamable Voice of Reason in her brain should've told her that a thing like this was nonsense. Stupid. But, for some ridiculous reason, things in her brain had gone loopy, and now the Voice of Truth was screaming at her to go and save Charlie. _But what about the baby, _she had asked. _What about Aaron? _The voice of truth responded in an overwhelmingly powerful voice: _He will be fine. Now go and save Charlie!_

And now she found it hard to believe that that was what she sincerely was planning to do. It was nonsense, yes. It was stupid, yes. I was downright unethical. But deep down, she knew that if she didn't want his death on her heart for the rest of her life-his blood smeared on her forehead- she would have to do this.

She would have to rescue him.

_As he rescued me, _she thought absentmindedly, snapping her backpack shut. As she threw it over her shoulder, she could feel the mass of water bottles juggling and gurgling behind her back; the noise of plastic running over more plastic. It was to this noise that she addressed the islanders, all sitting outside of their tent staring out into the majestic blue ocean looking oddly content.

"Everyone, listen!"

Claire had never been a public speaker. With a shudder she remembered her first speech in eighth grade. It had been about the woman's suffrage movement, and she had prepared beforehand for weeks- endless studying, hours of rehearsing in front of the mirror. And the morning of the speech she had actually been _confident- _ready to deliver. But when she had stood in front of the classroom, notes shaking in her hands, she hadn't been able to do it. She had tried to speak, but her throat felt like gritty sandpaper. And so she stood, frozen to the ground, completely and utterly vulnerable. Her teacher had threatened her with a zero, and she had accepted it gladly. But this..._this_ was different. Her measly speech about Susan B. Anthony did not determine the outcome of another man's life. _This did_.

"Hey!" Claire had shouted gruffly at them, and with annoyance they all turned to look at the small, blonde woman. "Listen to me! I have something to say!"

She found herself surprised at their lack of interjection or harsh words. Brightened by this, she continued. "I'm sure that all of you know of Charlie. Thing is, he's been missing for six days now." Heart beating passionately in her chest, she crossed her arms. "That's six days out..._there_. Six days away from camp. For all we know he could be dead."

She was struck with the vision of a jungle covered in blood, her lover dead on the ground. She shuddered.

"Or...he could be alive. We can't be sure right now. But one thing we can all be sure of is that we'll never know unless we go out and look for him, and this is exactly what I plan on doing."

It was then that the mad blitz of interjection occurred. "Wait a minute." Claire looked up at the woman whom she had only seen around once or twice, but had heard quite a deal about her nonetheless. Black hair, tan skin, beautiful...this must be Ana Lucia. "Answer me this. What makes Druggy Boy so special? Dozens of innocent people have gotten lost out there, too."

Claire was hit with a bolt of anger as she heard them all sniggering at Ana Lucia's new nickname for Charlie. She could feel her temples throbbing, her hands forming into unknowing fist. Yet, she ignored it, for if she lashed out in anger at whoever brought up a valid question, surely no one would want to accompany her in her pilgrimage into the jungle. And the last thing she wanted was to be alone. "But all of those people were _stolen_. Charlie went out there on his own free will-"

"Exactly! Leave his ass out there to rot, that's what I say."

Her throat welled up with fury. Yes, Ana Lucia did hold quite a rivaled beauty, but it seemed like all that came out of her mouth was pure filth. "_Let me finish_! So did Michael, and we sent a search team out for him. True, we didn't find him, but we at least looked! I say Charlie deserves the same."

"Yeah, because walking out into the jungle for no damned reason is a helluva lot more honorable than looking for your lost son," Ana grunted, nastiness practically dripping from every word. Claire felt like crying, and she doubted she would've had the strength to continue had it not been for the person who spoke next.

"Hey now," John Locke's voice was thick with wisdom and honorability. It was almost like magic, the way everyone's head snapped upwards in attention when he spoke. "Claire isn't asking for any arguments. All she is asking for is help from anyone who's willing to offer it." He paused as a ray of sun glinted off of his round, bald head. "I, for one, am willing to offer mine."

Needless to say, the majority of the people listening were shocked. Didn't Locke, no more than a week prior, punch Charlie in the face? Give him one in the old kisser? A hard one, at that? If so, then _why the hell did he want to help? _And apparently, he wasn't the only one willing to reach out a hand to lost little Druggy Boy. They were all shocked once more as they witnessed Jack approaching Claire, looking quite heroic with a knife clipped to his belt loop, shining in the sunlight. "Count me in."

As the entire camp stared at the three of them- the Search Team- with a look of dumb shock, Claire felt some foreign yet wonderful lifting sensation in her stomach that brought a smile to her face. Was it hope?

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Charlie came out of the frantic, drug-induced nightmare with the unshakable feeling of desolation and dread all over him...drowning him. An insurmountable crescendo of chilling horror swelled over his heart like torrents of cold water, and he let the onslaught of scalding tears overcome him - weeping like a child into the faint and dim sunrise. He tried his very hardest to shake away the images, but the moment his frenzied mess of a brain could finally set itself straight, he realized it immediately...and nothing could make him more petrified.

He would have to choose again.

This was no dream, of that he was sure. Nothing so clear and precise could merely be the workings of a restless mind in the middle of the night. It was a _vision. _Of what, he did not know.

But the one thing he _did_ know was that he had to get out, and as fast as possible.

-------

At first the dreams had been nonsensical...truly ridiculous. He had dreamt that he was back home with his mother when a man in matching pink bra and panties burst through the door and snatched all of the bananas from the kitchen. _That dream had been light- enjoyable in fact, for he sometimes found himself forgetting his mother's face._ But for some reasons the dreams took a sudden turn for the worst, and thinking back upon the nightmare, he could feel a sickly cold sweat springing up all over him.

The sky had been singularly black, and he had been crawling. Dragging himself miserably, to be more precise. He had felt like an animal, one with the earth. Instinctive, barbaric...filled with a raging desire for _blood_. Everything had been _so real..._the wet, sopping mud between his fingers, the underbrush that ripped and tore at his flesh as he progressed into the darkness. But he did not feel the pain, for it seemed that everything was pointless- everything except the hunt. Tonight would be a glorious night. Tonight he would be victorious. Tonight he would bathe in her blood.

Now as he sat staring desperately up at the sky, he felt ill. But, in this dream (which hadn't seemed like a dream whatsoever) he felt no conscious, no battle of virtues in his heart. Just the unforgiving, consuming desire to kill.

On his hands and knees, covered in the mud, he approached her. Between the thickets of leaves, she stood illuminated by a lone sliver of white moonlight. He could feel the satanic grin ripping at the corners of his mouth; the guttural grunt of delight that a predator makes when it's finally spotted it's prey.

The tears rolled endlessly down his cheeks as he tried so hard to forget what happened next. But trying to forget something so..._enduring..._it was impossible.

A battle cry, shrill and terrible, pealed from his throat, and, brandishing a small and silver dagger, he leapt from the undergrowth and pounced on her, screaming and crying like a maniac. He could remember her face, so innocent and whole beneath the beam of moonlight. God's only child in a miserable and dark hell, infested with evil varmint such as himself. As he drove the dagger into her chest, he had felt no remorse. Just a singular burst of sick _joy. _

And now, shaking all over, he remembered with such astounding clarity Claire's blood dripping down her blouse. Except her blood...it had been _white..._and it dripped down thickly and eerily like melting candle waxAnd as the moonlight engulfed him, he looked down at his own tattered arms and legs and saw small streams of the darkest black beading down and trickling onto the jungle floor, spreading among the wet tousle of leaves. With those eyes so blue, those ocean eyes, she looked up at him, smiled, and said oh-so-sweetly:

"_You've decided."_

_----------_

_I have to get out, _he repeated, time and time again in his dazed mess of a brain. Half driven by horror, as well as the madness of terrible withdrawal, he pushed himself off of the log that had served as his bed and fell in a heap onto the jungle floor. Clutching onto the base of a tree, he had gotten into a standing position and started to stumble towards the distant sounds of the ocean. The sound of the morning tide slapping the rocks fiercely. He followed it blindly, and he had actually done this for about five minutes before he heard the sound of a gun clicking with anticipation at the nape of his neck. His heart thudded as he felt the cool metal against his feverish skin, and with a paralyzed sort of fright, he shut his eyes and waited for the bullet, but was instead met with the soft blow of hot breath in his ear.

"Well hell, baby, why you gotta go and run off like that?"

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**Next time: **Who the heck said that? Will Claire's Search Team find Charlie before the Others do? And will we finally learn the disturbing details of the plan Zeke has drawn up? Find out in the next installment of "The Pilgrimage"!

**A/N: **No groveling this week, mostly because I'm too tired. I'll just say I hoped you enjoyed the new chapter, now please review if you don't wish to be swallowed up into the pit of Hades. Just kidding...or am I? Ugh, I'm so tired. Just review, if you want to. Don't forget about that Hades thing, though. (I'm jus' keeding)

-Counter Spark


	4. One of Them

**Disclaimer: **Alright, you guys caught me. I own Lost! I was keeping it a secret the whole time. I don't know how you sneaking kids found out, but you did! Way to go! (dies a little bit inside from lying).

**Thanks for the reviews: **I love you!

**A/N: **Sorry it's taken longer than usual to get a new chapter up. I've been crazy-busy with schoolwork and whatnot (I wrote a play for English class that some actors came over and acted!), and I haven't had much alone time to write this. But, alas, I wrote with every opportunity that came and here is the end result. Another chapter of "The Pilgrimage"! Enjoy!

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"_Well hell, baby, why you gotta go and run off like that?"_

Frightened, paralyzed, and near soiling himself, Charlie closed his eyes as the cold tip of the gun pushed itself deeper into his skin. Millions of dazed and confused thoughts raced through his buzzing head, the first concerning just who that sexy yet frightening voice belonged to, and why-oh-why they were digging a pistol into his tender skin

He opened his parched mouth and responded in a gritty rasp, "Who are you?"

The first thing he felt was a hand spreading out slowly on his crotch- the second was the deep swoop of confusion and arousal at the pit of his stomach.

"My name is Bette, sweety-cakes." Her grip on him strengthened, and Charlie was hit with a bolt of dizziness that was overwhelming yet oddly bittersweet as he could feel her soft breaths warming his pallid cheeks, her hand groping at the Pleasure Center which was, at the moment, perked in attention. "Now that we got that all figured out, what I wanna know is who _you_ are."

_Right now I'm a very horny man, _he thought as he felt his knees going wobbly underneath him- the feeling of complete rubber-ness returning in full force.

The last thing he felt was total weightlessness and strong arms wrapped around him.

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"I say we spread out. The more ground we cover, the faster we'll find him." Jack furiously scratched at his sharp and annoyingly itchy stubble as he surveyed the rabid jungle with Locke and Claire by his side. At the moment he felt in control- actually in charge for once. Locke hadn't spoken too much since they had left camp earlier that day (which Jack found terribly wonderful), and Claire, of course, was as stone-faced as could be. He found the whole idea for this search someone strange, considering who presented it, but he decided not to venture into the relationship, however strange and twisted it may be, that existed between Claire and Charlie.

He could still remember the baby incident like it was yesterday. He could remember the fury in Claire's eyes when she slapped him in front of the wild morning tide. He could remember the tears welling up in Charlie's eyes as he sewed shut the wound on his purple cheek that Locke had bore him. Come to think of it, their coming on this pilgrimage was very peculiar indeed.

"No, Jack, I don't think so." Locke's stern yet melodically gentle voice drew him out of this memory. "If we split up we're more vulnerable. Also, if one of us _does _find Charlie, we might need more than one pair of hands to get him back to camp." Jack could only imagine what that was hinting at, and he noticed Claire did too as a subtle wave of darkness flashed on her doll-like face.

"That's why I brought these." With quick, eager hands Jack drew out three guns-two shotguns and one small and delicate pistol. "They're all Sawyer would allow me," he said numbly as he handed Locke one of the shotguns and Claire the silver pistol.

"Um, Jack," Claire's gentle voice was hard to hear in the ruckus of the jungle and the noise of the guns being distributed, but it was heard nonetheless. Her voice was wavering...almost frightened. "I really don't think we should split up."

The troubled look in her ocean eyes shook Jack as he slung the gun around his back. "But the guns...we can shoot if one of us spots him." Her arms were trembling slightly as he placed his rough hands on them. "Believe me, Claire...we'll find him _much_ quicker if we split up."

"Jack, I agree with Claire. I don't think it's wise-"

The leader in Jack (as well as the fussy little boy in Jack) flared up inside of him as he huffed at them. "Well, I imagine you guys want to find him, right?"

What Jack couldn't imagine was how terrible Claire was feeling at that very moment. The very nanosecond that Jack suggested splitting up, that Voice of Reason screamed a brain-shattering scream of '_Nooo!' _that sent shockwaves of fear down her spine. They _could not _split up- of this she was sure. "Of course I want to find him, Jack," she responded darkly. "I just...I think _if _the...Others are involved in whatever's happened to Charlie, we should definitely stay together."

Jack reasoned, put on a sour face, and nodded, fingering the leather strap that held the gun in place. "Fine, Claire. But I'm telling you now; the longer it takes us to find him, the quicker he's lost forever."

_Lost forever. _It repeated in her brain over and over. _Lost forever, lost forever, lost forever... _

What if he was?

---------------------------

They hiked without a word until the sun started to go down, and rested in a clear thicket next to the dusty rubble that had once been the cave. Claire fell asleep the moment her head came into contact with the coolness of the jungle undergrowth.

She dreamed that she was a bubble, floating in the front lawn of her parent's home in Australia. She had been floating in the cool summer air, bathing in the warm glow of the sun, looking down at her family who had gathered for Labor Day, all dressed in white little frills and dresses and nonsense like that. As a child she had always waited and waited for the next family get-together, because that meant hot dogs, as well as candy from her Aunt Mildred. Also, she remembered with growing embarrassment, she would get to see her hot older cousin Matt (he was adopted!) take a dip in her backyard pool, the water making his firm, muscle-laden body slick in the sunlight.

In her descent from the sky, she looked down towards her rickety little porch where her Grandfather Bill used to sit all day in his oak rocking chair (gathering momentum from his arms because he had lost both legs in the War), rocking endlessly in the summer sun, telling her about whatever war he could whenever she would listen (which wasn't too often). Except Grandfather Bill was gone- he _had _died when Claire was ten, and she regretted not listening to him more ever since- but there was someone in his place, with Grandpa Bill's flannel shirts and wrapped loosely around them, their amputated legs propped up on the little stool he used. They even wore her Grandfather's cunning grin on their much younger face.

Needless to say, she wasn't surprised that it was Charlie, considering her dreams had only been about him for quite sometime now. But when those clouded blue-gray eyes lost in twisters of confusion and pain and fear locked with hers, she felt her round, wet bubble-body quivering, and then...

She popped.

When Claire awoke she felt very odd, as though she were being watched, and she was sure she heard a faint tousling of leaves as she looked around at the vast green of the jungle...the sounds of someone fleeing. But alas, the hour was late, and as cliche as it sounded, it was probably just the wind. She lay her blonde head down, suspicion almost completely gone, and closed her eyes once more, half of her praying for a dream and half of her dreading one. There was unmistakably a joy of seeing Charlie's face, but this joy was usually doused when it was either covered in blood or the shadows of rapidly approaching death.

The rest of her sleep was not disturbed by a single dream, and as the faint, steady breaths of her slumber reached Freddy's ears, his quaking heart was assured that he was neither heard nor spotted by this lovely woman, nor her company.

He smiled a child's smile as he imagined Zeke's joy when he would tell him of this wonderful news. In his haze of joy he found himself, oddly enough, tired, and he made camp behind the big gray rock next to the old cave.

The man-boy dreamed of sugarplum fairies and the great, big reward Zeke would give him when he got back. He assumed, rightfully so, that Zeke had no idea that these three castaways were searching for the strange man that they had stowed away miles from their current resting spot..._was him name Charlie_? All he was sure of was that it started with a C.And, whoever the C-man was, he was apparently important not only to the Boss but to these people as well, and if he got the heads up to Zeke in time, he was sure he would be greatly rewarded with something he couldn't even began to imagine.No doubt it would be _priceless_.

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"Wake up, baby, time to eat the turkey!"

Charlie wondered if he heard that right, then reasoned that, indeed he did, as he opened his eyes to the yellow-green burst that was the jungle when the sun was in it's highest place in the sky. He was a tad bit surprised to see the face of a beautiful young woman hovering over him, her radiant beauty outlined in the white light of the sun.

Wow...she _was _beautiful. Apparently, this was to whom the hauntingly sexy voice belonged to, and honestly, the face didn't match the voice. The voice had been scratchy, raw, and dripping in sexual suggestiveness. But the face was so innocently gorgeous and full of life. In fact, he could only think of one woman he had ever met in his entire life that was a beautiful as she, maybe even more. But she was miles away, probably spending whatever free time she could grasp hating every fiber of his being, which she had the right to.

He smiled at the woman; or at least he hoped it was a smile, for it felt forced and stretched on his weary face. In fact, everything about him felt weary..._terrible_ to be more precise. Nausea was still settling into his system like a disease, and he guessed it was from the withdrawal that came with the heroine the bearded man gave him. And not to mention he was starving, literally at that. Which is why the smile felt more real than ever when she brought a large piece of some reddish meat into his field of vision.

"That's right, honeybuns, it's turkey time!"

He was shaken with a sudden bout of confusion as he heard the statement spill slowly and strangely out of his lips, accusatory and idiotic: "That can't be turkey." _Of course it isn't you dolt, _he thought immediately.

She laughed. "Of course it ain't! But, well, you can imagine it is, right? I kind of guessed turkey was your meat of choice." With firm hands she grabbed his shoulders and brought him to a sitting position on the log they were sharing, sitting placidly next to a running stream of wet, wonderful _water. _

Charlie almost cried at the sight of it. "Oh..." he said longingly as he swallowed hard in his dry, parched throat, licking his crackling lips.

She made the connection with a wide girlish grin. "You thirsty?"

With tears shining in his eyes, he turned to her and nodded. "Mhmm. Could you...help me please?" Slightly embarrassed, he tried to stand on the mossy ground and started wavering dangerously before the woman grabbed his arms and shook her head.

"No you don't, sugar, Bette's gonna get you some water. You just sit tight."

And with amazement he watched her jog over to the little stream of crystal clear water, bend down, cup some in her hands, and walk back to him with care shining in her eyes. She approached him and raised her cupped hands toward his mouth.

Charlie felt himself going red. "Wait, you don't have to-"

"Shhhhh," she said soothingly, the rawness of sexuality returning in her voice. "Let Bette give you some water." With tenderness she raised her hands to his crackling lips and tilted them forward, letting the cold water find it's way into his mouth. He finished it quickly as she wiped off the beads of water from the corners of his mouth.

As he drank it, he never took his eyes off of this mystery woman, whose name was apparently Bette. The question repeated over and over in his waking mind: _Who is she? _She could've been one of _them _for all he cared...but something in him wanted to know. So, as she retreated back to the stream to get him more water, he asked, for the second time that day.

"Who are you?"

Bette returned with a new handful of water and bent down before him smiling. "I already told ya, hon'. My name's-"

"Bette, yes, I know." He paused as the woman brought more of the chilling water to his lips. As he could feel it splashing away in his empty stomach, he was suddenly very tired of the water and very eager to have some of that turkey she mentioned first. And then maybe a little dash of heroine, if she had any on her. "I mean, are you from the flight?"

Her beautiful face contorted into a comical look of complete and utter confusion. "Flight? What flight?"

That forced and weary smile found it's way to his lips again as he reached for the meat she had left lying on the log. Yes, it was currently being nibbled on by a collection of insects, but he didn't care. Charlie was so hungry it could've been invested with eight different species of maggots; he would've chomped the bloody hell off of it, and maybe some of those maggots too, if they looked tasty. "Flight 815? You know...crashed, about forty people on it?" Strangely enough he found himself annoyed, as the look of confusion never left her face. "About say...fifty-something days ago? I'm pretty sure you couldn't have missed us." After he said this he took a big, merciless _chomp! _into the reddish boar meat, trying to hide his ravenous desires in front of this strange woman. It was _delicious. _

"Oh! Yes, ya'll. The Boss told me about you-"

_The Boss...? _A big wave of understanding crashed ruthlessly into him as he began to realize. _She's one of them..._

"He told me there was a group of people who had crash-landed on a plane trip. That must be you, darlin'." Her dark locks fell to the side as she cocked her head at him, intensity in her eyes. "That mean you evil?"

The smile came back. "Not that I know of. We all thought that you guys were the evil ones!"

He was alarmed at the way she didn't laugh. Or smile whatsoever. "Maybe we are." A look of sheer grimness overtook her gorgeous face and somehow, all at once, made it hideous. Bette was solemnly quiet.

"Bette...what do you mean?"

Frightened, almost bewildered, she shot her head in all directions and drew closer to Charlie, her hot ragged breaths blowing onto his skin. "I crashed here, too." She paused for a moment as confusion swept over his face, and he looked ready to interject. She hushed him before he could, bringing a finger to his mouth. "Not on 815 with you guys. I was really little when it happened, and I don't remember much before it. But the Boss took me in and made me one of their own. Killed my mother, though. But I don't remember her, anyway."

"Is that..._true?" _Now Charlie looked like a befuddled little child, as the boar meat stood in his hand, frozen, his lips parted wide in disbelief.

Suddenly, she became very frightened. "_He's coming!" _She whispered, grabbing his shoulders. "Oh, he _scares_ me, Charlie."

"Who? Who scares you?" A cold chill spread over his spine as he could feel that indescribable feeling you get when you're being watched washing over his senses, making him frantic.

She didn't respond.

"_Who?"_

Suddenly, a very gruff yet familiar voice pierced the afternoon haze and shook Charlie to the bone. "Well, hello you two. I presume you're having fun?"

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**Next time: **Does Charlie believe Bette? What exactly does this mystery-man have in store for Charlie and, possibly, Bette? And what is going on with Freddy? Stay tuned for the next installment of "The Pilgrimage"!

**A/N: **Hello, my lovely readers! Hopefully you are enjoying the twists and turns of this story (believe me, I got more in store)! And also, if you haven't guessed, this isn't really following the storyline for the show whatsoever (there's some word for that, but I don't know it so blahh), but I hope you guys will just sit with me through the ride, however unbelievably crazy it may be. And no, I didn't forget to grovel (I would _never!). _Any reviews would be greatly appreciated, and also, this just in, if you review me you will all get chocolate. Chocolate! So review! (Counter Spark is not liable if any reviewer does not get chocolate, she just said it to get reviews and if anyone took her seriously they must either be A. stupid or B. very hungry)

-Counter Spark


	5. Decisions and Late Night Scares

**Disclaimer: **We are on chapter five, folks, and if you haven't realized that I don't own Lost by now, something's up. (I DON'T OWN LOST!)

**Reviews! **Gee-hee-hee, I love you all! Thank you so much for continuing to review me, it makes the groveling seem oh-so-worth it! (Also, Bette's name is pronounced like the word 'bet'. You know, like Bette Midler? It's okay that you didn't know!)

**A/N: **Chapter five of "The Pilgrimage" has finally been completed, and no one is happier about this than me! I'm so sorry it's literally like taken _forever, _but I've been busy for real. But I've finally finished, and I'm extremely happy with the end result! I hate to toot my own horn, but I think this is my favorite chapter so far. I mean, things are starting to happen now! It's getting a little intense. So, I'll shut up now and allow you to read the newest installment of "The Pilgrimage"! Enjoy!

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In a bolt of burning hot confusion, Jack awoke from his not so fitful slumber feeling more suspicious than he'd ever been in his life. It was like some freakish sixth sense- the way his spine pricked every time he breathed, the way his heart was pounding in his chest as if something was terribly wrong...it almost made no sense. But then again, things of that nature rarely did.

And at this moment, Jack felt very, _very _odd. Like he was being watched.

Glancing over at Locke and Claire to make sure they were still asleep, he started to inch out of his sleeping back, trying his very hardest to make no sound at all, closing his eyes in tension every time he made the faintest of sounds. Strangely enough, he found himself transfixed on Locke's face...it looked so _childlike. _Not stern, not abrasive...just childlike. His red mouth was open slightly, his cheek smashed against the hard jungle floor. Even a silent little river of spittle came flowing slowly out of his open mouth, gathering on the wet leaves. Jack laughed to himself. _How cute._

_If they ask me where I'm going, I'll tell them I'm taking a piss, _he thought anxiously, still somehow befuddled on why exactly he felt the need to leave their camp (even if nature _was_ calling, he would normally be too scared). He knew in his heart of hearts that leaving their camp wasn't too smart; in fact it was pretty damn stupid, but that pricking in his spine- his insane heart beat- could not be normal. Jack didn't know if he would yet call it paranormal, but normal was so far out of the question.

With the lightest footfalls he could muster, he walked slowly over towards the black line in the sky the remains of the cave left in the just-beginning-to-rise sun. It brought back memories-primarily ones featuring Charlie Pace himself. And all of a sudden, he found himself startled to realize that he actually missed the man. _Strange, _he thought bemusedly. Come to think of it, he hadn't really thought of Charlie once during this journey. And he was supposed to be saving him. How very strange indeed.

What was even stranger was the faint, barely audible noise of someone _muttering. _

"Who's there?" His nasally, trembling voice penetrated the thick morning air and made shivers run up his spine like little white spiders of fear.

"_I'mma get 'em, Boss..." _A weak, breathy voice called out shakily into the middle of the darkness.

"Oh, God," Jack whispered faintly under his breath, mostly to himself. He was shooting his head in all directions, finally having reached the level that was rated one step above frightened: Piss-yourself-afraid. "Who's there?"

"_I swear to you, I swear..." _

With numb hands he reached for his gun, and then realized with a painstaking amount of frustration that he hadn't even brought it with him. _Damn!_ He could envision it now, lying soundlessly in his sleeping bag, with the safety on, of course, in case he caught the trigger in his sleep. How terrible would that be, shooting yourself during your sleep? But now he stood scared beyond his wits at these insane mutterings, with no gun to at least make him feel a little bit better. Like a fool he approached the voice, trying so very hard not to shriek like a little girl.

"_Yer' gonna be sooo proud of me..."_

Now Jack threw both of his hands into the thick night air, trying to grab a hold of _something..._a stick, a log..._anything, _to protect himself from this insane stranger, lurking about.

"_Things are gonna be so much better..."_

"Show yourself!"

"_I SWEAR TO YOU!"_

A shot went off in the dead silence of the jungle- a shot who's destination was unknown by both the shooter and the intended prey...that is until one of the two felt a terrible, swelling sensation in their thigh area that hurt terribly, terribly much.

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The sound of a gunshot exploding into the early morning darkness awoke Claire with such a start that for the second time in her life she sincerely thought that her heart was going to fail. They scared the wits out of her, guns. Half of that horrible fear stemmed from the fact that her parents had both been what the public deemed 'damn dirty hippies' (they preferred the term 'nature-loving pacifist'; Grandpa Bill had deemed them both pussies) who heavily, heavily shunned the idea of guns and their multiple uses. The other half of this fear stemmed from the current situation, which, at the moment, seemed like nothing other than sheer _chaos_. With this crazy pilgrimage they were on (as well as the crazy dreams she had been having), she half-guessed that it was indeed _her_ that got shot before she was awake enough to realize that she was just fine...asleep in her little blue sleeping bag from the hatch.

Soon after Claire cleared all of that up, the next thought that came crashing into her mind like a tidal wave was: Where_ the hell is Jack? _

This question was answered quicker than she expected when she heard that strong yet wavering voice that could only belong to a man such as Jack, calling out maybe a couple hundred of feet into the depths of the jungle. He was calling for Locke, and the ferocity of sheer terror that escaped his lips chilled her to the bone.

"LOCKE! HELP!"

Claire couldn't distinctively remember when exactly she had become so assertive- so _forward. _She liked to think it was motherhood (_by the way, I wonder how Aaron's doing this morning, _she thought) that pulled her from her calm and timid ways. But, deep down, she knew the answer like she knew the back of a car seat, which in high school, she knew _very _well. It was this new thing she had to learn- this new thing called _survival. _And it was this new thing that made her jump from her sleeping bag like a bolt of lightning, gun tight and pulsing in her hand, to wake up Locke, or, if it had to go that far, go help Jack herself.

It didn't have to go that far, fortunately. All it took was a swift, solid kick to wake Locke up, and God knows the moment that man's eyes open, he is _awake _and as alert as a bloody deer.

"Claire? W-What's wro-"

"Jack's gone!" As she spoke, she found herself growing more impatient, and more ready to dash into the jungle herself and take matters into her own able hands. "He called out for you...I heard a gun."

Locke had no verbal response; rather, he threw his sleeping bag to the ground like some fierce animal and was standing next to Claire with his gun cocked in less than a second. As if he had prepared his whole life for a situation like this.

They looked at each other, and something locked in their eyes. It was a mixture of bravery, courage, and determination, all of which were new to Claire. She nodded at the bald man and ran into the jungle, silver pistol swinging in hand.

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It had been somewhere around three hours since Zeke stumbled upon Charlie and Bette in the jungle, sitting across from each other next to the lake like two lovesick teenagers, ready to delve into each other's pants. Good thing I put a right stop to that, he thought good-humoredly, looking at both of their faces across the scorching orange fire, the light on their cheeks dancing uncertainly.

The plan was going wonderfully, and Zeke couldn't have been any happier. Freddy, of course, was a little late getting back, but he didn't think much of it. Probably found himself terribly interested in a squirrel or something and lost track of time. It wouldn't be very surprising if he did, the silly boy.

"Now Charlie, before I take you back to camp, we need to reach some sort of..._understanding_."

Trying to keep a straight face in front of the boy was awfully hard, Zeke was starting to discover. Mostly because he looked like death warmed over. But that was part of the plan. He had to remember that. He _had _to.

"And before that can happen, you're gonna have to tell me why you're doing this. Why do you want to cause so much pain?"

_Because it _has _to be caused. Because I need you right now for the sake of this island. _"You know I don't want to cause any pain now, Charlie-"

"You don't think stealing away a mother's child will cause pain? You think it's _okay?" _The young man's face twisted in both pain and anger as he shot his hand over his wound. The wound that would kill him in another day or so, Zeke noted with dismal calmness.

"I think it's necessary, Charlie, for reasons of my own."

"Well, until you feel like sharing those reasons you can stay in the middle of the jungle and twiddle your bloody thumbs because I am _never _going to help you."

A numb bolt of nervous tension shot Zeke with such force that he found himself nauseous, but he hid this with a sharp little smirk that Charlie, across the fire, found both hateful and terrifying. "I expected that much, of course. I knew you were a faithful kind of guy, Charlie. Even faithful to the ones that hurt you."

"Sod off," Charlie muttered, turning his head towards the jungle, eyes straining to see anything that could take him out of this situation. He tried to focus on the traces of the newly rising sun; specs of gold barely able to be seen in a sea of black. As he did this he thought he heard the sound of something exploding, resonating faintly across the depths of the jungle.

"Here's the deal. You're going to have to choose, Charlie, and I know you're going to make the right decision." As Zeke said this, he smiled a sickly smile as he saw Charlie's head turning towards him again, eyes wide in both attention and disbelief. "Either you take us to your camp and tell us _exactly _where the baby sleeps, or we go to camp ourselves, kill the mother, and make everybody think it was you." The young man's eyes were two spheres of fire, glowing in the orange light. "And they'll believe that pretty easy, won't they?"

Charlie stumbled with his words. "W-Why do I have to show you where Aaron is? If you say you'll go and kill Claire-" He paused and closed his eyes. "...And if you do, why can't you just get Aaron by yourself? It doesn't make sense!"

Zeke folded his arms across his burly chest. "Oh, yes it does. We don't _want _to disturb your camp, Charlie. We don't _want _to have to storm in there like big brutes and steal Baby Aaron. Hell, we don't even want to kill your little girlfriend. Why? Because they think they're safe from us, and the longer we have them thinking that, the better off we are. Remember, Charlie? Half of the people from that plane think that they're rid of us...that we'll leave them alone. What they don't realize is that _we keep this island running. _See, if you go into camp tomorrow night and bring us the child, no harm done. You'll have to live with us from then on, of course, but that's better compared to the other option." He was lying through his teeth, and Zeke knew it. Charlie would be dead soon after he fetched Aaron for them. But, he had to leave out that part of the deal.

"But if you don't cooperate, Charlie, things will be much, _much _worse before the end of things. Like I said, we'll have to kill Claire and then kill you. Make it look like a murder-suicide. And we'll get Aaron in the end anyway. So there's your two options. We get Aaron and no one is hurt, or we get Aaron and Claire dies. You have to choose one, Charlie. Which will it be?"

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Running through the jungle with Locke had seemed so dream-like and distant to Claire; like an out-of-body experience. She could feel herself moving, quickly at that, and she could hear her and Locke's strained breathing as they dashed among the crackling leaves. She could even feel the small, dainty little gun, held firmly in her sweaty palms. But the beat of her heart seemed miles away...and time seemed to just keep _going and going, _like some eternal nightmare.

What she saw next was so startling that she considered the possibility that she indeed was dreaming, and that she would wake up at camp feeling foolish, or even wake up in her bed at Australia, belly still pregnant with Aaron. Before she ever knew of this cursed island or Charlie Pace. But when she actually _saw_ what she had stumbled upon; actually looked at it closely, she realized that something like this was too real to _ever _be fake.

Claire saw Jack first, standing and looking quite intact but very distraught, and a tall-looking blonde man dressed in rags, bleeding profusely from his thigh with a gun in his hands. With disbelief she looked at Jack, then Locke, and then finally back to the mystery man sprawled on the ground. She could feel her fumbling lips trying to formulate a question. "_What happened?"_

Jack looked at her calmly with his sky-blue eyes. "Claire, Locke...this is Freddy. It appears as though he's shot himself." At this he placed his hands on his hips and chuckled. "He didn't have the safety on."

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Charlie's heart was racing with such astounding speed as he gazed upon that wicked face across the fire, bathed in a crackling orange glow. Numbly, he could feel Bette's hand rubbing his back, trying to comfort him. What she didn't know was that _this _could never have any comfort- that the decision he was being forced to make would determine whether or not the two people he loved more than life would either live or die. _His_ fate...well...that had already been forgotten by him. Instead his mind was full of restless images of the first time he saw Aaron, his face screwed up in childish tears; when Claire had kissed him on the cheek, a kiss that seemed so innocent, yet it had felt more intimate than any sex he had ever had with any woman in his life. He saw the dream, of Claire bathed in the silver moon-glow with a knife through her chest...a knife that he held in his hands.

It was with this image buzzing around in his head that he made his decision, perhaps the last he would ever make. And dear God, may it be a good one.

"I've decided."

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**Next time: **What has Charlie decided to do? What will the three castaways do with Freddy? And what is the deal with Bette (I promised to tell you this last time, but I never got to it)! Find out in the next installment of "The Pilgrimage"!

**A/N: **I told you it was action-packed! Wow, that took forever to write, but now that I read it, it doesn't seem like that much. Oh well! I'm still happy with it, and hopefully you are, too, faithful reviewer! You know the best way to relay whatever feelings you hold for this newest chapter? REVIEWS! (YAY!)

Counterspark


	6. Hearts

**Disclaimer: **This is a little segment I like to call **'If Counterspark Owned Lost'**, keyword being 'if', because she obviously doesn't: If Counterspark owned Lost, Charlie would rule the island from above the highest mountain cliff, and his right-hand-man would be the polar bear, who would eventually hook up with Vincent (the polar bear was a girl) and spawn a hybrid polar bear-dog species, who would later reek havoc on the island, killing all except Charlie, Claire, and Aaron, who had learned to live in harmony with the Polar Bogs. Obviously, this is greater than anything J.J Abrams ever wrote, and he would beg me to be his replacement. (The gist of this was..._I don't own Lost_!)

**_Anyway_...Thanks for the Reviews: **You know you guys have got my mad love.

**A/N: **Why has it taken forever for me to write the sixth chapter of "The Pilgrimage"? Well, in order to adequately answer this question, I will respond with a question of my own. Why do beavers live in dams? Why does the world turn? The answer: _Just 'cuz!_

But seriously, I really don't know why it's taken forever, and if it's annoying you guys, I'm really sorry. It's just I've been brainstorming a lot for this story, and also school's almost out and they're giving us craploads of work so we won't leave early. How wonderfully nice of them. Anyway though, I promise that I now know where this story is headed, and believe me...it's somewhere action-packed! Not so much for this chapter...it's somewhat of a transitional piece...the calm before the storm if you will...but action-packedness is coming up soon! I'm getting ahead of myself so I'll just shut up and let you read the newest installment of "The Pilgrimage"!

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Freddy's heart throbbed crazily in his chest, primarily from fear, but also a tinge of rabid confusion. Who were these people? Why were they staring at him? And oh dear God, why did the man with the traces of gray in his five-o-clock shadow have a shotgun pointed directly against his temple?

With fumbling, clumsy lips, he strained to speak aloud, and even as he spoke the words seemed so far away...lost in a distant sea. "Who-Who are you?"

The man with the graying stubble on his angular jaw line cocked his head to the side and smiled at him- a cruel, malevolent smile that held no goodness or humor. "No, Freddy. I think the question is," he said, pushing the gun deeper into his forehead, "Who are _you?" _The sadistic, mad tone of his voice chilled him to the bone.

"Jack." The beautiful blonde woman with the striking light-blue eyes spoke firmly, her eyebrows furrowed in some mixture of confusion and discrepancy. Freddy thought she was really pretty...maybe even prettier than his old pal Bette. Not that he would ever tell that to Bette though, oh hell no. "Jack, I think you should calm down-"

"Calm down? You're asking me to calm down?" Jack's voice rose slightly with anger as he pushed the gun again, hard enough to leave a mark. "He's one of them, Claire! Just...look at him!"

He did indeed have a point. The very little that the select group of islanders had seen of the Others were all very similar. Dressed in rags, disheveled...filthy. And Freddy was all of those three, except that his filthiness seemed to breach some new level of it. He was caked with mud, and he stank like boar stool.

"Jack, she's not saying he's not an Other. Just...calm down." Now the bald man spoke, one hand on his hip, the other outstretched in the air towards Jack, extended with some look of warning. "He's defenseless."

Jack laughed shortly at this. "You mean he is now that he tried to shoot me!"

"Wait! I-I didn't try and shoot you!"

In unison, the three of them looked at Freddy dumbfounded.

"I...well...you startled me. I'm not a real heavy sleeper, Mr. Jack, and as soon as heard you yelling I got really scared and pulled the trigger!" His moody blue eyes floated down towards his gunshot wound, which was still trickling out blood and hurting like hell. "And look what a heap of good that did me."

A heavy blanket of silence enveloped the four of them, and it seemed like an eternity before anyone spoke again. It was the pretty blonde girl who broke the silence, and Freddy couldn't help but stare at her lips as she spoke, the words tumbling out in some weird foreign accent that he found both strange and slightly arousing. "What were you doing out here then, if you weren't intending to harm us?"

Like a bolt of lightning, Freddy was reminded of his responsibility...the oath he made to the Boss (that he, at the time, did not understand nor did he now), the promise to never betray him. He could remember Zeke warning him of an even higher boss, the Big Boss they called him. A boss he hadn't met before, who would behead him were he to tell _anyone anything. _And if he had anything at all on this crazy island, it was Zeke's trust. "I can't."

"You can't? Ha!" Jack was now grinding the end of the shotgun into Freddy's temple, his gritty fingertip putting pressure on the trigger. "I'm going to count to three, Freddy. And if you wanna keep up this vow of silence you've got going, I'm going to shoot you. And this time it won't be in your leg. Got that?" He paused. "_One_."

The pretty girl started to shout, her face slated in disbelief and alarm. "Jack- what are you doing? Listen-"

"_Two_." He said, eyes narrowed at Freddy, completely disregarding the woman and the bald man, who were shouting at him in unison. Freddy's eyes locked with Jack's for one brief second, and the absolute determination- the thirst for his blood- in Jack's eyes made Freddy's stomach feel empty and cold and sick.

"Jack!"

Suddenly, Freddy saw someone standing behind Jack...a man with a full gray beard, clothed in rags. He was speaking, and every word that left his lips seemed low and melodic, like some forbidden ancient tune. "Tell him, Freddy. I'll be okay. Tell him."

"_Zeke-" _he whispered, tears burning in his eyes and welling up in his throat. How he longed to be back with him again...the closest thing he had ever had to a father.

"_OKAY_!" Freddy screamed, and when he looked up once more for Zeke's figure in the dim orange glow of the sunrise, he was gone. A voice so frightened that it didn't even seem like his own escaped his lips hurriedly, shaking and dipping all over the place. "Okay, I'll tell you everything; just please, don't hurt me." When he tried to draw a breath, he was hit with a painful shudder as the tears started to stream down his filthy face. "_Please_."

And as he opened his mouth, everything spilled out easily and frantically, as though it had been pent up for too long and waiting to be released. He told them everything with no breaks in between. He told them about Zeke, about Charlie, about the baby (at this the pretty woman's face grew cloudy and pale, and Freddy thought she was going to puke)...he told them _everything. _And the one thing that kept repeating itself over and over again in his pulsing brain was the faint cry of hope that he was not doing the wrong thing.

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The march started immediately, and Charlie found the pace nearly impossible to keep up with. His boar wound was throbbing worse than ever, and every limb and ligament seemed to be screaming out at him in fury, asking him '_WHY?' _over and over again in the most pleading of voices. His muscles were crying out in protest, and every time his foot fell on the springy ground, his fractured knee burned like hellfire.

But the worst thing by far about the march was the horrible gnawing feeling that he was indeed leading these people (Zeke, Bette, and a few others) to Aaron- sweet, innocent Aaron- and allowing them to do whatever they pleased with the child; to hurt him, use him for some twisted plot...maybe even _kill _him. He couldn't deny that he loved the boy...in fact, for a short time he had been the world to him. He had made him feel like a father. But unfortunately enough, things had recently taken a horrible, freakish turn for the worst, and now he was solely responsible for whatever was going to befall Aaron when they reached the camp, and the thought made him want to keel over and die.

"Charlie."

He groaned as he could feel her breathy whisper on his neck, pleading and seductive. "What is it, Bette?" Charlie asked, trying oh-so hard not to sound like he could've cared less. Currently, he was finding himself growing distant from her, which was almost laughable considering he had only met her hours ago. Truth was, he was too lost in his own personal hell to pay any attention to her, or her beggings for sexually-related things. In fact, she had actually tried to sleep with him last night, but Charlie found allowing her impossible. Especially since his heart had already been wrapped up in Claire, and any chance of that grasp loosening seemed distant. Not to mention he was weak as hell, and actually trying to perform a sexual act on the girl would've been both utterly sad and pathetic.

"Things are going to be okay." The easiness with which she said it made Charlie want to strangle her, not only for actually believing that things could actually be _okay, _but for looking at him with those mopey, faux-hopeful eyes. She had absolutely no idea, and the realization that he was all alone in his desolateness hit him like a ton of bricks. It was enough to make any man break.

He struggled to answer her, trying so hard to hold back shameful tears. "I heavily, _heavily_ doubt that."

They marched on without a word.

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"He's not telling us something," Jack said, tightening his grip on his gun. He_ had _sat the gun down in his lap as Freddy poured out everything he knew, but now the trepidation in his heart had once again returned, and he was reminded of the cunningness of these people. True, Freddy look _very _genuine. Differential diagnosis would be that the man was a tad slow...the way he spoke as well as the aloof way in which he carried himself all pointed to that.

But the Others were crafty; he knew that as well. And perhaps tricking him into thinking that Freddy (if that _was_ his name) was harmless could potentially lead to his and the rest of the castaways downfall.

"I told you everything," Freddy said, his voice high in pitch and desperation. "Just please, let me go."

Jack felt a evil sort of laughter ripping at his insides, and nothing had ever felt as good as letting it out. Claire visibly twitched at the mad tone in Jack's voice, but at this point he no longer cared whether or not he looked like an madman. He didn't even care for his own sanity anymore; he was going to learn the secrets of Freddy, the secrets of Zeke, and the secrets of the Big Boss that Freddy spoke of whom he knew almost nothing of. Hell, he was going to learn all the secrets this godforsaken island could keep.

Reality came and pulled Jack out of his vicious train of thought and hurled him right back into the situation at hand. For a few quiet moments he couldn't really remember why he was laughing, but then it all came flooding back in a warm current of remembrance. "Do you _really_ think I'm going to let you go?"

Freddy looked downcast at his hands angrily, bewildered by how badly they were shaking. His face went totally slack at this; his eyes dead and lifeless behind his droopy lids. The words came sputtering out again, confused. "But...that was part of the deal."

"No it wasn't," Jack said grinning. "The deal was that I wouldn't kill you."

Locke shifted beside Jack and crossed his hulking arms firmly. His stony face set once more into its usual look of deep thought. "So what are we gonna do with him now, then? He told us everything he knows."

Jack's head swiveled around quickly to look at Locke intently. "Do you believe him?"

A moment's pause. "Yes, I do."

He laughed lightly and threw his arms on his narrow waist, turning towards Claire, who at the moment look both perplexed and badly shaken. "How about you, Claire?"

She pursed her pink lips together and hesitated a moment before nodding. Jack noticed the way Freddy's eyes were drawn to her in absolute gratitude, a loopy, crooked smile drawn happily on his face. If Jack didn't watch himself, he could start falling for the boy's horseshit. Apparently Locke and Claire already had, what with his glowing aura of innocence. Claire looked down towards Freddy and smiled before addressing Jack once more. "So, if we're not letting him go, what are we going to do with him?"

"That's easy," he said, that same wicked grin ripping at the corners of his mouth. Nothing made him happier than being on the very edges of finding out the answers to this island. "He's going to take us to his Boss."

Both Claire and Locke nodded, while Freddy looked aloof to the situation. Truth told, he had no idea what to think. He just hoped Zeke wouldn't be too pissed. He hated it when he was mad at him.

"Charlie's with him, right?" Claire asked Freddy with an untamable fire of hope burning and thawing the icy blue of her eyes. She appeared to be near tears as the question released itself.

Freddy smiled. "Yep."

"_Good."_

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"Hey, mate. You ever heard of Driveshaft?"

Zeke looked at Charlie slowly, trying very hard not to lash out at the boy. They had been walking for hours and hours now, and recently Charlie had become not only annoying but nauseatingly persistent. Perhaps this was his idea of payback. If so, it was working. "Have I ever heard of _what?" _

"_Driveshaft." _

The lengthy way in which the word or name or whatever it was came rolling out of his lips was infuriating enough, but the way his grayish-blue eyes shot him a look of bafflement was enough to make a man explode. It was as if his eyes were saying, _you've never heard of Driveshaft? Well, you bloody git! _Zeke chose not to respond, and hoped for the best that it would result in Charlie shutting up.

It didn't. "You know? _You all everybody! Youuu allll everybody!"_

"Damnit, boy!" Charlie's piercing falsetto rang in his ears with utter dreadfulness. "What is that you're saying?" Later, he regretted asking.

"_You all everybody? _It's a song! By my band, Driveshaft. We were bloody brilliant, I can't believe you've never heard of us. What, you've been living under a rock for the past ten years?"

How 'bout an island for the last _forty. _Zeke shook his head and stared directly at the endless green ahead of him. "What is it gonna take to shut you up, boy?"

The jungle was almost silent, except for the birds, as Charlie thought deeply about the question. At length, he answered. "You got any heroine on ya?"

Zeke chuckled as he remembered watching the boy about a month and a half ago from a distance as he sat in front of a fire, trembling as the drugs left his system. And now he wanted more. "I thought you were trying to quit that shit, Charlie." In fact, he _knew_ he was trying to quit that shit. But actually asking the questioned person seemed logical. Plus, he was halfway interested in the answer he would give him.

Charlie hesitated before answering in a much lower, sad tone. "Doesn't matter much anymore, huh?"

The pity hit Zeke harder than he could've imagined, but even as he felt the cold sympathy freezing through his veins, he fought it as hard as he could. He _had _to do this. _Pity is deadly. _Especially if the Big Boss is involved. As he thought all of this, he dug through his dirty trouser pocket and pulled out a small brown bag of heroine, retrieved from the preacher's brother's plane. "No, I suppose not," he said, tossing the bag to Charlie.

He caught it in a single swoop of the hand, firmly grasping the all-too-familiar shape of the little plastic bag. And as he dumped a small amount of the heroine into his palm, examining it under the scorching sun, he prayed silently that perhaps the upcoming fix would take his mind off of this awful happenstance-this terrible fluke. And it _did..._for a little while at least. But even as his brain found itself clouded in the high, he knew somewhere in the dreadful conscious of his mind that no amount of heroine would make anything better. No amount of heroine could save a child's life.

Silently, he cried, head drooped in shame.

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**Next time: **Just exactly where will Freddy decide to lead Jack, Claire, and Locke? How soon will the band of Others be reaching the island, and ultimately, Aaron? Will Charlie go through with this? Find out on the next installment of "The Pilgrimage"!

**A/N: **Have I successfully made my comeback from the month-long hiatus? I'll never know if you don't tell me (reviews, please please please)! And also, if you want to talk about Lost in general (you won't spoil me, I'm fully knowledged), tell me what you thought about that latest episode, with Ana and all. I was wigging _out!_

_-_Counter Spark


	7. Points of Desperation

**Disclaimer**: I own Lost just like Kevin Federline has talent.

**Thanks for the Reviews: **Gosh, I love you guys. You bring tears of joy to my eyes.

**A/N: **Okay, I am officially done with the rambling, mostly because I am getting into I-Want-To-Get-This-Done-As-Soon-As-Possible Mode. Seriously. Not that I'm tired of writing, but I'm tired of pooping around with this story- I want to get this thing out, ya'll, and I want to blow yo mind! So here goes, the seventh chapter of "The Pilgrimage"!

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The hot, monstrous sun beat down on the four sullen travelers like some unmerciful enemy, just daring them to move further into the shadowy depths of the jungle. They hadn't said a word to each other since they had left their camp, preferring to let their misery do all the talking. Endless sweat rolled in thick, wet beads down their faces, bathing them with this awful, dirty feeling of hot wretchedness that just wouldn't go away. By the time the sun had reached it's peak in the blue sky, they had greedily emptied their canteens and water rations, leaving nothing left to comfort them except the odd desire to find whatever they were looking for.

Claire personally didn't care what Jack and Locke were looking for...whether it be the Others or an answer to this mysterious island. To her it meant nothing. Charlie meant everything.

As she trudged on miserably through the deeply-rooted undergrowth, swatting away the branches, she could find no other motivation for continuing than the thought of seeing him once again. It was funny, how this terrible sort of pilgrimage had made her fall in love. Truthfully, she had started on this journey to rid herself of the guilt- the all-encompassing guilt that came to her whenever she thought of the responsibility she held over Charlie's disappearance. She had turned him away, and oh how he ran.

But now, this was something different. Perhaps it was the dreams, showing her flashes of the man, leaving her to wake up wanting nothing more than him in her arms. Or maybe it was the trek itself; dragging herself through the jungle for a man of whom she had briefly hated. But deep down, she knew full well what had turned this journey into a mad plight of love.

It was the memories. Of Charlie, holding Aaron, grinning up at her with this unified look of utter _joy_. The feeling of her lips on his cheek, so quick but _so_ intimate. It had actually frightened her, how intimate that innocent kiss had seemed. It made her feel like a prude, getting so flustered over a bloody kiss on the cheek. But it was what she had felt, and the shielded look on his eyes when she had pulled away hinted that he felt the same, and was afraid to show it, just like her.

With pain, she closed her eyes and wished for him. Wished with all the hope she could muster that she would be able to see him once again, be it only for a moment. That in itself would be enough- enough to strive for. Enough to _fight _for. This realization made the grueling march seem like a breeze. Claire smiled to herself.

Then the strangest thing happened.

"_Claire?"_

When she raised her blonde head to meet the person who spoke her name so softly into the still of the jungle, she was stunned to see the figure of Charlie Pace standing some fifty odd feet away, his eyes wide, with a finger lifted to his lips in a signal of silence.

"_Shhhhh."_

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Charlie decided right then and there that he hated the sun.

He felt like some wretched, filthy beast, heaving himself forward with every single step as the unmerciful sun pounded down on him like a heat wave. He could remember no pain in his life worse than _this. _The way the sun beat down on him, practically baking him alive. Not to mention the fact that wonderful Mr. Friendly had already emptied the contents of the group's sole canteen, and there was no more water to be had. Wistfully, Charlie swallowed and grimaced at the slow and painful descent of saliva in his throat. How he _longed_ for water.

Come to think of it, he longed for many things. He longed for shade, first of all. He longed for food, for rest, for sleep; for an escape to this endless nightmare..._so_ many things.

He longed for _her_.

But even as he accepted the fact that he wanted her so badly, he knew how bloody useless that was. How utterly pitiful it was to long for someone who would _never_ long for you- not for a million years. Yet, acknowledging this did not drive away the thoughts. They just made them more shameful, and harder to shy away from.

But how impossible it was to stop! He missed _everything_ about her. Her shiny blonde hair, with touches of the slightest curls strewn all about. Her soft, pink lips. The shielded look in her eyes whenever they shared special moments- the look that made him think that maybe, just maybe, she felt the way he did about her, which was complete, raging affection. But the odds of that were just too slim for him to feel good about. Angrily, he wondered if wanting her was yet another of his many unhealthy addictions.

"Ay, Charlie," the man's gruff voice broke the heavy silence like a knife. Even as he spoke, his voice seemed a million miles away, floating in and out of coherence like some form of broken English. "You alright there?"

It took a moment for the question to register with Charlie, and when it did, the first thing he wondered was why the hell Zeke felt the need to ask him. He was walking, wasn't he? And essentially, that was all he was good for. "I'm fine, mate. Bloody _fine_." At this he grinned inwardly, stomping harder on the mossy ground. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Suddenly, Charlie felt his legs disappear from underneath him, bathed in numbness. "Oy," he muttered absently as he started to swagger, hands thrown out in confusion. His vision started to leave him, making everything look scary and warped and unfamiliar.

"_Charlie_! What the hell?"

"Zeke, I'm alright," he said quietly, knowing sufficiently well that no one could hear him, other than himself. His own words rang endlessly in his dazed mind, bouncing up and down, nauseatingly. "I'm...alright." Through the ground, he could feel Zeke running towards him, his heavy footsteps vibrated through his body.

Charlie collapsed as all the air expelled itself from his lungs, leaving him gasping on the jungle floor. Charlie felt hands on him; strong, meaty hands, and he shooed them away. "Leave me be," he groaned. "Leave me alone, you bloody baby-killler!"

"Charlie, what are you trying to pull?" Zeke asked, his voice piercingly high in fright and worry. He ran his hands over Charlie, trying to get him up again. He needed the boy, more than he would ever know. They were nearly there, for Chrissake! With labor, he got Charlie face upwards on the grass, and a bolt of disturbance hit him as he gazed upon the boy's sickly chilling smile.

"What am I trying to pull?" Charlie croaked, giggles rushing over him without control. "I'm bloody dying here!"

Zeke's bearded face swam in and out of vision; the gray of his beard contracting and expanding and slowly going black.

"Shut up with that talk! Dammit, get up, boy!"

"Charlie? Are you okay, baby? CHARLIE!"

With a rush of satisfaction, Charlie could hear Bette's piercing shrieks of fear as she stood alone in hysterics, gazing down at his slowly fading mortality.

Zeke's hands on him was all he could feel- all that was keeping him in the world of the living. That was one of the last things. But not the last.

His eyes started to close.

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"Charlie?"

Jack was shaken from his miserable death-march as Claire spoke out into the haze, her voice solid and worried. Oddly, he stared at her back, which was facing him. He wondered how she had gotten to leading the pack, but shrugged off the thought and addressed the newer, more startling one. Why was Claire talking to the bushes?

Locke and Freddy were apparently wondering this, too, as their heads shot up in unison to stare at her, their faces slated with sudden alertness and confusion. Jack paused.

"Um..._Claire_?"

Suddenly, the woman stopped and cocked her head to the side, as if she were focusing on something in the distance. Jack looked over her shoulder and wasn't surprised to see absolutely nothing.

Locke spoke next. "What is it, Claire?"

"Do you see something?" Freddy asked, befuddlement all over his face. "A boar?"

She didn't respond.

"Claire," Jack approached her slowly, his footsteps crunching on the baking leaves. "Are you with us?" He laid a firm hand down on her pink, flaking-with-sunburn shoulder. She visibly jerked.

But she was roused from her trance nonetheless. "He's this way," she said, voice hurried in excitement. "Charlie! He's this way!" And like a bolt, she darted through the undergrowth in the total opposite direction; a flash of blonde.

"Claire!" The three men ran behind the woman's whipping blonde hair, somewhat taken aback by her sudden sense of impeccable direction. It was like madness. "This isn't the way!"

She turned back to them, but not slowing down in the least as she did. "Says who?"

"Freddy, that's who," Locke responded, quickly growing out of breath. "He said it was _that _way!" The old man pointed in the opposite direction.

"It _is_!" Freddy shouted, as if in an afterthought, holding his leg and wincing as he followed behind. "Can we slow down, please?"

Claire ignored him, continuing to run like a madwoman into the endless green of the jungle.

"Claire!" Jack shouted frustratingly into the distance at her shrinking form. She was going too fast. As if she wasn't even affected by the relentless, scorching sun. "Slow down!"

"NO! WE'RE ALMOST TOO LATE!"

Jack stumbled momentarily over a humongous jutting tree root, swearing in confusion and frustration as he picked himself up. This was ridiculous. "Too late for what!"

Jack was less than surprised when she made no effort to respond, and, mustering all the strength that this endless trek had left him with, he ran like wildfire, hoping with all hope that he wasn't following this girl into the sinister pits of hell.

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Claire had never ran so fast in her life. But this was a special occasion.

She could never recall having hallucinations- in fact she liked to think that she was mentally fit in every way. But now she had been driven to insanity, or so she thought, because she had never in her short and somewhat privileged life seen or heard something that wasn't real. And _this..._this just couldn't be real.

The moment she saw him standing in the distance, she knew it wasn't him. Yet some part of her truly did not care; being able to see him made the fact that he was a hallucination almost excusable. True, this was not what she wanted- what she wanted was to have him in her arms, real and whole. But being able to see him once more, not having to rely on fuzzy memories, was enough to make her at least _hope _that he was real. It was enough to make her chase him when he turned on his heel and ran.

She didn't even bother shouting out to him; the way that he ran made the possibility of him slowing down look slim anyway. In fact, the speed at which he ran made it even more clear that this was not Charlie. No one she had ever seen in her life ran this fast, and she doubted that a man who had been exposed to the elements for almost a week now would find the energy to sprint at such a hellish pace. But she followed.

Sometime during this mad chase, she remembered that there were three other men screaming at her. Until this moment, she had been practically deaf to their shouts of protest. But now she heard them clearer than she would have liked, and they sounded pretty pissed.

"Claire!"

Angrily she whipped her head around to look at Jack, who followed some twenty feet behind, running like the devil was on his heels to follow her.

"Claire, I'm stopping!"

She didn't feel up to answer him, and decided that it was best not to. Come to think of it, she really didn't care. This fake Charlie didn't just appear for no good reason...it was leading her somewhere. She was _sure _of it. And she would follow him as far as he would take her, no matter who said she should do otherwise, including Jack, Locke, or Freddy.

Claire turned head away from Jack, expecting to see Charlie not too far ahead, and was hit with a wave of absolute panic when he was no where to be found. Her heart started to race, more so than it was before.

"Charlie?" She shouted, slowing down to a jog. With fear shining in her eyes, she scanned the jungle. And then she saw him, crouched in a mass of crazy green bushes, with a finger raised to his lips. She approached him, one hand reached out in a sign of caution. "Charlie, what's going on?"

She nearly cried at the sight of him, merely inches away from her. How she had longed to see those kind, blue eyes looking straight at her, making her feel as though she had already accomplished everything she had set out for. It made her forget that he wasn't real.

In answer, the hallucination reached out with both hands and made a clearing between two wild bushes, showing her what was on the other side.

Claire clapped both hands to her mouth in an effort to suppress her horror at what lay behind the bushes. She turned once more to look at 'Charlie', but found nothing more than upturned leaves.

He was gone. But now the real one was closer than she thought.

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"Claire!" Jack shouted, out of breath, slowing down to a leisurely jog. "Claire, I'm stopping!"

That's when he lost sight of her completely. His heart throbbed in exhaustion, and with sudden fear he shot his head around in all directions, relief washing over him as Locke and Freddy ran up behind him in the distance. At least he hadn't lost _them. _But as for Claire...

"Jack! _Shhhhh!"_

The doctor's heart nearly skipped a beat as he heard her all-too-familiar voice merely feet away, spoken in a soft, barely audible whisper.

"Claire? Where are you-"

"Shhh! Over here."

Frantically he scanned the jungle and was more than relieved to see a flash of blonde, huddled down between a mass of thick, crazy bushes. She had a finger raised to her lips, her blue eyes bulbous in warning. Jack signaled with his hand to Locke and Freddy, who were dawdling some twenty feet behind, to the cluster of bushes where Claire sat hunched like a tiger, ready to pounce. To pounce at what, Jack had no idea. But he approached her nonetheless, as stealthily as a snake.

He inched next to her slowly, trying his very hardest to read the plethora of emotions that was written all over the young mother's face. It didn't take Jack very long to figure out that that was impossible. "Claire," he whispered, eyes narrowed in significance, "What is it?"

And with an utter look of joy mixed with terrible fright, she turned to face him, one hand reached out between the green to make a small clearing within the bushes. "Look."

He did, and what he saw nearly made him scream in sheer triumph. There they were, walking...nearly six of them, all dressed in rags and filth just like an Other should. Except something had stopped them. "Why have they stopped?" He asked in confusion.

Claire shrugged and addressed the question that seemed much more dire. "Who is that in the front?"

Jack strained his eyes at the dirty mass of a man that had been leading the pack. He could see from the sides of his face a wild gray beard, fraying out madly in the light breeze. "That's Zeke. But wait...who's in front of him?"

"In front of who?" Claire asked, squinting into the distance.

"In front of Zeke! Somebody's fallen it looks like."

The woman looked deeply troubled. "I don't see anything..."

Jack remained quiet as she scoped the scene, eyes strained to their limit. Silently she waited for her to see it, and knew without a doubt that she did when she let out a shrieking little moan of horror. A black, loose sneaker, attached to the foot of whoever lay fallen in a heap in front of Zeke. _His_ sneaker.

"_Charlie?"_

Jack nodded, quietly drawing out his gun and cocking it. He motioned for her to do the same, and when Locke and Freddy finally came tumbling next to them, he said what he had been dying to say for what seemed like an eternity now. He clutched his gun fervently. "Let's get 'em."

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**Next Time: **Who's gonna get capped? Who's gonna die? And what other odd happenstances may occur in the crossfire? Find out in the next installment of "The Pilgrimage"!

**A/N: **Yes my friends, the poopy is about to hit the fan. The show is about to get on the road. So don't bail out on me now! A.K.A, Review me _please_! They make my day. Also, to change the subject from my groveling, who's seen the newest X-Men movie? I loved it, for real, especially the dude with the angel wings. HOT.

Anyway, R and R pals!

-Counterspark


	8. The Game of Distraction

**Disclaimer: **AH! I don't own Lost!

**Thanks for the Reviews: **To everyone who reviewed me, I extend to you a notion of sincere gratitude. Thank you so very, very much. No, you don't get a present, but my thankfulness should be enough, right? -tugs at shirt collar nervously- Right?

**A/N: **So, as you can guess, after viewing the season finale, this story is toe-tally not following anything than could possibly be called the 'Lost' storyline. And I already have an ending picked out which will defy everything that was explained in it. But _believe_ me, after you read what I got for ya, you'll think it's even cooler than what that joke J.J Abrams had for you.

Anywho, yeah, this is the eighth chapter of "The Pilgrimage". Enjoy!

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"So, how're we going to go about this?" Locke peered through the wild masses of undergrowth, straining with everything he could muster to see exactly what they were up against. Jack, the fool, had been more than anxious to leap out of the foliage, gun cocked, at the random stray of Others, and it had actually been Freddy who grabbed a handful of shoulder and yanked him back. Freddy, like Locke, knew that this was nothing to take lightly.

Battle was _never_ to be taken lightly.

If studying for years the origin of the native Aborigine Walkabout had taught Locke anything, it was that caution was to be held in the most highest of importance. True, confidence in battle was a good thing, but too much confidence could get a poor sap like Jack killed. The key to victory against any foe was patience; to wait for the precise moment, and when that moment comes..._pounce._

And right now the four of them sat hunched in silence, waiting for that moment. Zeke was currently hovered over Charlie, whom Locke guessed (with brutal honesty to himself) had either passed out or passed away. He didn't like thinking so negatively, but the sheer terror in Zeke's voice...a man wouldn't shout like that if Charlie was merely taking a nap out in the middle of the path. For Claire's sake, he was keeping quiet about those odds, but he figured she was a smart enough woman to have figured it out herself. But at least she was clinging to hope. _It may be the only thing that gets her through these next five minutes alive, _he thought silently.

Locke forced himself to stop thinking about emotional matters and face all of his attention on the group of dirty travelers before them. Now was not the time to get distracted.

He knew that right now the only one in complete vulnerability was Zeke, as well as the strange yet beautiful female who was balling her eyes out, throwing herself on top of Charlie's still body. But there were about four other nomads standing behind them, looking somewhat distracted by the scene in front of them, but still for the most part attentive, looking absolutely grim with their guns cocked to the side. They were the main target.

Suddenly Locke became aware of Jack and Claire's eyes on him, waiting for his command. Locke had to admit, he had never seen Jack step down from the leadership role like this before, and he couldn't deny that it was _wonderful _to finally be in charge. Meanwhile, Freddy didn't seem to be in the moment at all, being completely transfixed on the stooped form of Zeke. Locke reasoned that Freddy didn't deserve to be included in this, so he let him carry on with the staring as he quietly addressed Claire and Jack.

"We need to wait until those four get distracted," he whispered, pointing fervently at the scatter of Others standing behind Zeke. "Then we'll have most of the control."

Claire groaned and bit her lip anxiously. "How long is that going to take, John?" Locke could notice the slightest traces of tears on the brims of her eyes.

"Hopefully not too long," he murmured, clutching his gun. He tried his best to express to her with his eyes that now was not the time to let your emotions run rampant...letting them do so could be the distinguishing factor between life and death.

That's when Claire did the stupidest thing ever. At least in Locke's book. "Charlie can't afford to wait that long," she said, picking up a rock. "Look, I'm going to go over there." Locke followed her finger, which was shaking in the direction of another patch of bushes to the left of them. "I'll throw the rock, get them distracted, and-"

"Claire, don't even finish that thought. The answer is no," he said levelly.

She flashed him a spiteful glare and tightened her grip on the rock. "I wasn't exactly asking you." And like that, before anyone could get in a word, she edged toward the other group of bushes stealthily, like a snake in the grass.

"_Claire!" _Locke whispered to her passionately, trying his hardest not to burst into a cursing fit. "_Claire, come back!"_

Jack quietly put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Locke harrumphed.

"She's gonna get us all killed, you know that Jack?"

The doctor shook his head. "No she's not, Locke. Can't you see, she's sacrificing herself for us all."

Locke reasoned, and suddenly found himself impressed with how far Claire had come. True, the Great Rock Throwing Technique had been attempted numerous times, but it usually either ended in chaos or the death of the rock thrower. This was quite a leap of faith, and John was a big fan of faith. He frowned at Jack. "I just really hope she knows what she's getting into."

Jack grinned and laughed softly, although no traces of happiness reached his eyes. "Don't worry, she doesn't."

Locke shook his head and clasped his gun. _Waging war sure is a bitch._

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Zeke didn't know what to think. Right now he figured he was on the very edge of insanity, and thinking in any positive or coherent manner was nearly impossible, considering the fact that right now his dreams were all tumbling down and amounting to nothing more than a shitty pile of nothingness.

Right now it was all slipping through his fingers.

"How's he lookin', Boss?"

_Like shit, _he thought angrily, trying to find something in his frazzled mind to go off of. Any past experiences that could perhaps assist him or tell him what to do. I mean, he'd been a hunting man all his life...right in the middle of the action. In the thick of everything. He'd strangled a wild boar with his bear hands. He'd roughed it out here on this hellhole longer than anybody else could've possibly imagined (with the exception of the Big Boss, of course). He whimpered silently to himself as he focused on Charlie's low and shallow breathing. _Still alive, _he thought, hope beginning to flare up in him like a wildfire.

He took Charlie's filthy, limp hand in his own and used the other to fish out the small lump of heroine in his pocket. _I've built myself a life on this Godforsaken patch of land, and dammit, the last thing I'm going to do is let it all come tumbling down._

"Boss, how's he lookin'?"

In a frightening and sudden movement, Zeke bolted his head around and looked at Mark, a red-headed, freckle faced comrade, and shouted in fury, eyes red and bloodshot; veins pulsing madly on his temples. "How's he look like he's doing?" Surveying the taken aback look on young Mark's face with contentment, Zeke reasoned he'd scared him enough to shut him up, and turned back to face the dying man on the ground- the purpose of this whole expedition.

_Oh Charlie, you've ruined me. You've damned ruined me._

With the deepest sense of foreboding he had ever experienced in his long, long life, the bearded man gazed down upon the young, blonde-haired man who lay almost motionless directly below him, still alive but fading fast. His blue, alert eyes were opened sickeningly wide, staring straight up at Zeke but not really _looking _at him at all. Zeke reasoned that if he got out of this scrape alive (without being by killed by Big Boss for his failure), that face would no doubt haunt him for eternity. _I've failed you Charlie, _he thought as he dropped the small bag of drugs in his haste.The weary old man could feel a single wet tear working it's way down his worn and lined face as he scrambled to pick up the heroine; his only hope for avoiding complete and utter failure. He was literally standing on the _brink _of destruction, he thought as he fiddled with tiny bag, and if Charlie was going to die on him now...well...it was over. All of it.

He was roused from his wallow of sadness when a rock cracked him squarely in the skull

"What the-!"

The scraggly band of Others looked at Zeke in unison, befuddlement written all over their faces. One of the four gun-toting travelers approached Zeke hesitantly, somewhat baffled by the comical yet livid look on his Boss's face. "Sir, what's the prob-"

Another gray stone rocketed towards the Others, this one hitting Mark directly in his shin. He cursed loudly and shot a hand down towards the wound, which was bulbous and trickling ribbons of crimson underneath his shaking fingers. He looked up. "Did you guys see that?"

Bette sniveled and pointed her finger towards a random patch of bushes in the distance. "I think it came from over there-"

She was cut short as yet another rock hurled itself towards her, whizzing past her and missing her ear by inches. She shrieked like a crazy banshee.

Mitch, a black-haired, mysterious-looking Other, silently stalked up on the bushes, wordlessly directing everyone else to creep along with him. Zeke was the only exception, for he was still hovering over Charlie like a hawk, fidgeting with the tiny bag of heroine. Mitch could make out a small mound of beige powder stacked up nicely in the middle of Zeke's outstretched palm. He smiled inwardly. If Zeke could get the heroine to Charlie in time, true- he'd probably be delusional and damn-near immobile- but he would still be alive, and that's what mattered most. Alive, he could still point them to Aaron.

Alive, the mission could still be accomplished. All he had to worry about now was whoever was pelting rocks at them, and he figured it wasn't anything to be taken direly serious. Maybe a monkey or an islander easily overtaken. And with five of his companions behind him, the majority with guns; things were looking good.

Silently, they approached the bushes. And they didn't suspect a thing.

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Claire was ready to hurl another rock at the buffoons before she realized that they were heading straight for her.

In-between the shady undergrowth she could make them out completely, and a part of her actually willed them to continue creeping in her direction. True, her mission had been accomplished- the mission to draw their attention away from Charlie- but some _strange_ part of her wanted them to keep coming towards her and she hardly knew why. Maybe it was this trip into the jungle, which had already made her ten times more daring than she could've ever imagined being that had brought about this strange desire. The rock gripped firmly in her hand gave her this savage, monstrous yearning to leap from the bushes like a wild lemur and beat all of their heads in.

_Not only has this journey made me courageous, _she thought as they approached, _but it has also made me terribly violent. _Claire smirked to herself. _And I think I like it._

There was the smallest gap between the approaching Others in which Claire could clearly see Charlie, sprawled out on the ground like an animal; discarded like some piece of trash. Her blood boiled in fury. How these _monsters _had stolen him from her...

They were going to pay.

Self-consciously, she ducked further down into the mass of shrubbery and turned her attention towards her two fellow companions in the distance as the forthcoming Others started to cast a long, distorted shadow upon her. Claire wondered quietly to herself why they hadn't leaped out in her defense yet, but reasoned that there would be no better time than now. Now was the time to act.

Praying silently to herself, she gripped her rock and leaped out blindly.

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Jack nudged Locke soundlessly, nodding his head towards the Others who were currently approaching Claire with devilish smirks scrawled wickedly on their dirty faces. It was in this moment of time that Jack realized how much he _hated _these people...how long he had spent with nothing on his mind other than the appealing image of Zeke begging for mercy from him, _pleading _him to spare his life.

Oh, and how wonderful it had felt to deny him, be it all a dream.

The countless number of sleepless nights Jack had spent in cunning preparation was astounding, for he often found himself obsessed with the idea of eliminating them all. Sometimes it was more enjoyable than he could imagine, plotting out their demise. It completely consumed his thoughts, and he was fine with that. It brought a smile to his face.

But sometimes, especially when he was around Kate, he found himself completely disgusted with those awful lingering thoughts of violence and revenge. When he was around Kate, he wanted nothing more than to protect her...be the good guy.

But right now he was farther away from Kate than he could've possibly conceived, and the vengeful, blood-thirsty thoughts came to him without measure or warning. It made him feel dirty; unclean even...but he could not deny the fact that he had been waiting for this moment to arrive since he first encountered the Others. And right now, with Claire's life hanging in the balance, he had the best excuse in the world to destroy them all, one by one, and he was ready to take full advantage of it.

The Others continued to creep towards the young mother slowly, and Jack assumed that they had little more than ten seconds to act. He turned to face Locke, whose eyes looked farther away than ever. "Locke," he said quietly, "I think we should-"

"Shhh!" The old hunter moved his hand out in caution in front of Jack's chest. "Not until I tell you to."

Jack bit his tongue and pulled his gun closer to him, trying his hardest not to lash out at John. _Who does he think he is, _the doctor thought angrily. _Nothing more than an old loon with a gun. _

Come to think of it, how could Jack even be sure of Locke's assumed expertise at this endeavor? Was hunting wild boars anything compared to live, human combat? Jack groaned to himself and turned to face Freddy, whom he had momentarily forgot was still hunched behind him silently. He looked troubled.

"Freddy, how're you-"

"Don't talk to him," Locke snapped, bolting his bald head towards Jack.

He gaped at the old man incredulously and, mustering up all the resistance he had left in him, bit his tongue once more. Now was not the time to lash out. Maybe later. _Definitely later, _he thought, flashing Locke the evil-eye.

They sat in silence for another five or so seconds (which seemed like an eternity to Jack) before he started to become seriously concerned. The Others were merely feet away from Claire, and were it Jack's decision, he would've already revealed himself and commenced battle. "Locke," he whispered. "They're too close."

"No they're not," he whispered back fervently, gun cocked and knees wobbling anxiously in the dirt. "Just a little longer, Jack."

"Do you see them, John? They're way too close." Jack started to hesitantly stand up, eyes glued on the situation folding out before him .

Locke shot a firm hand out towards him and brought him back down with the force of a man who knows what he's doing (and knows the other man doesn't). "Jack, you don't know what you're doing."

"Look Locke, do you _want_ them to murder Claire?" He spoke with emphasis, raising up once more.

Locke raised his voice dangerously high, staring at Jack with vengeance and complete, utter rage. "No, you're not. Just a little-"

They were both silenced by the distinctive noise of Claire screaming and leaping from her spot in the bushes brandishing a small, round rock in her palm as if it were a deadly weapon. Locke turned to Jack with a deadly look on his face. "Look what you did!"

"What _I_ did?"

They sat there for a nanosecond, glaring at each other, before they both realized that Claire's life was currently hanging in the balance, and if they didn't come to her aid now, she would surely be dead before they had time to think about it. Nodding at one another (with a common hatred still bellowing below the surface), they stood up and revealed themselves among the foliage, guns in their hands. Not one of the Others looked at the two of them. This was _perfect._

That's when Freddy screamed.

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Everyone turned to face the two of them, pale-faced with guns held steadfastly in their hands. Even Claire stared at them, with a clueless look on her face that read, "_What the hell are you two doing_?"

Jack shifted in his spot and nervously shot a look back at Freddy, who was still huddled in the undergrowth, blubbering like a madman with tears in his eyes _Way to go there, Freddy, _he thought to himself, rage gradually building inside of him. With trepidation, he turned his attention back to the enemies, and, gripping his gun with white knuckles, he steadily built up the courage to speak first He slowly raised his weapon. "Back away from the girl."

A black-haired man covered in mud laughed at him. It momentarily frightened Jack, but once more the solid feel of the gun in his hands felt very reassuring. "You're not the only one with the gun, mate." And as if the Others had had years of practice in this sort of situation, they all raised their guns in unison, pointing them directly at Jack and Locke. "How's about you drop the gun?"

Locke spoke next. "How's about you back away from the girl and we'll reach an agreement, huh?" He squinted at the black-haired man with his gun raised as well.

"Reach an agreement? We've got you outnumbered, old man."

It was true; all four of the gun-equipped Others had their guns raised in attention, and somewhere in Jack's mind he had a feeling that they were much more experienced marksmen than either he or Locke.

No one spoke for what seemed like an eternity.

It was in this time that Jack's rage grew beyond measure; as he stared at the filthy crew assembled before him, he was reminded of those countless dreams he had experienced back at the beach, snuggled safely under the tarpaulin. How those dreams had revisited him time and time again, ultimately building up an untamable desire in Jack to do nothing more than stand on the edges of life and death, staring the monsters in the eyes.

It was in this time that Jack no longer cared if he was killed or not. He nodded his head and tensed up on the trigger.

Locke spoke to him softly, alarm in his eyes. "Jack, what're you doing?"

"What I should've done a long time ago."

The black-haired Other stirred in his spot, eyes furrowed in suspicion at Jack. "Hey, what's he doing?" He asked, worry showing itself slightly in his calm and composed voice to Locke.

"Nothing," Locke responded hurriedly, dropping his gun slightly and turning to face Jack. He whispered to him gently. "Jack, drop the gun. We're outnumbered."

"I don't care if we're outnumbered," he responded, throwing all caution to the wind. "This is what I was meant to do."

"No it's not, Jack. Please, if you do this, they'll kill us all!" And with hesitation in his shaking hands, Locke reached out towards Jack's gun. "Drop the gun, Jack."

They stood there in absolute silence, the two of them, before Jack eased up on the gun. A sigh of relief rushed over the Others and Locke like a calming wind, and everyone dropped their guns slightly, as if ready to talk.

That's when, faster than any eye could follow, Jack raised his gun once more and shot Mitch in the chest.

Time seemed to stand still as the filthy, nameless man stared straight at his shooter, dark eyes welling up in tears of pain, confusion, and what looked like to be a deep, deep hatred. Jack felt surprisingly blank...a terrible, empty sort of blank. Not the joy or triumph that he had yearned for- expected. And the longer he looked at the nondescript man who started to fall on his knees before him, the more Jack started to feel disgusted. Frozen with fear, he thought he was going to be sick.

The dark-haired man was now on his knees, a trembling hand placed neatly atop the bleeding wound which streamed what seemed like endless amounts of crimson red. A tiny, thin stream of bloodescaped the corner of his lips, slowly cascading off of his chin.

He stared at Jack. Then he slowly fell on his stomach among the endless amount of jungle leaves. He was gone.

Chaos ensued.

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**Next time: **Who will escape with their life? Who will be disposed of? And will Charlie and Claire finally be reunited before it's too late? Find out in the next installment of "The Pilgrimage"!

**A/N: **Oh...my...gosh! Things are happening, aren't they? Just like I promised! I don't want to spoil the surprise, but the next chapter will definitely be the climax of the story. And some people will die. I won't tell you who, but there will be some deaths, perhaps of some characters you've grown to love. So, mentally prepare yourself before the next chapter, ok?

By the way, R&R. I will be forever indebted to you.

-Counterspark


	9. Breaking Points

**Disclaimer: **I still can't believe I'm sitting here trying to come up with a witty way to say that I'm not J.J. Abrams and I don't own Lost. Yes, I just said it, but I don't feel satisfied because it wasn't witty.

**Thanks for the reviews: **Even the ones I got three years since I've updated! You guys are troopers. A tip of my hat to you.

**A/N: **WTF. I'M BACK. I don't know how, I don't know why, but it's true, America (and other countries). I'm back. Yes, it's been three years since my last chapter. Yes, much has happened in the Lost universe that renders my story now completely impossible. Yes, all of you people who cared about this story who have me on alert will most probably have to read all the chapters before this because you forgotten what the heck this story was even about, but I urge you to please give me another chance! I'm so sorry I abandoned you! And really, I read all the chapters before this in approx. 30 minutes...they are pretty short chapters. SO ANYWAY...what am I trying to say? 1) please give me another chance to finish this story. I've found that since this story is really old and my writing wasn't at its peak back that (not to say it sucked, but I digress), I can really race through writing these instead of obsessing over everything because if I don't obsess, it flows better with the other chapters.

**And the main question: ** Why am I back from the dead? My lovely reviewers, that's what. I just randomly stumbled upon this again and read some of the reviews I got. Some of you guys were really invested in this story, and I feel like a total douche bag for leaving you hanging. So I'm going to finish it. For you guys. And also, for once, I'd love to actually finish a story. So hold my hand, pray, and we'll get through this together. With that said, enjoy this three-years-overdue chapter!

_----------------------_

_What an idiot._

Locke would've loved to reflect on everything that was wrong with Jack deciding to make the first move and shoot, but at the moment he didn't have much time. Already they had reacted, almost as soon as the bullet entered the man's chest and he fell, face first, onto the jungle floor. There was a brief, almost-nonexistant pause, and then the all too familiar sound of a gunshot erupting into the thick, sweltering air. He didn't have time to see who shot or who was hit; all he knew to do was leap for the ground. _That is if I don't want to die today..._

For the few moments of observation that he gained from his position, he watched with wide eyes as Jack kneeled at the base of a nearby tree, pointing his gun towards the remaining three shooters, one eye cocked and frowning deeply as though he were the gritty hero in some classic, long-ago Western. He saw another man go down- a rather big, bald guy, and crawled over to the nearest tree, gun held very firmly to his chest. He had to give it to Jack. For a doctor, he was a good shot. But then again, you can chalk a lot up too pure, dumb luck. And an insane desire to win, of course.

_That's the thing about Jack, _he thought as a bullet whizzed by his ear and took a chunk out of the tree. _He's too stubborn to die. _Locke pointed his gun very expertly at the man with his gun aimed at Jack and took a quick shot, watching the bullet enter his shoulder with clean, trained precision. The Other- a redheaded, stringy-looking man- winced and threw a hand over his wound, but he didn't go down.

"Alright," he muttered, very quietly to himself as he raised his gun up again towards the same man. "If you want to be difficult about it..."

Suddenly, a very piercing and chilling sort of pain shot up from his side and he dropped his gun, cursing loudly. Blinking rapidly, he brought both hands to the new wound and swore again, staring with a rapt sort of wonder at all the blood on his hands. _Well that's not good, _he thought in a very good humored fashion, almost grinning to himself. "That's not good at all."

He lost his footing and stumbled backwards, head spinning.

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Claire was too caught up in everything to really bother with panicking. She'd considered it for the briefest of moments before deciding it wasn't really in her best interest. Besides, she was already too shocked with what she'd already done, there wasn't too much of a point in debating what she could and couldn't do. She'd leapt from her place of hiding and, she supposed, started the battle that was raging on behind her, before jumping into another heavily shrouded bush. Thankfully the Others that had been advancing on her had been distracted by the two men with guns, and the person she was _really _concernedwith wasn't that heavily protected at all. Just Zeke and the sobbing woman, both of them hovering over Charlie and concealing him almost completely from her view.

But she was close now. Too close. No matter that Charlie wasn't moving at all...no matter that the woman was sobbing and the bearded man had such a crippling look of defeat in his eyes that it almost, for the briefest of seconds, made her feel sympathetic. _I don't have time to worry about that, _she thought quickly, swallowing the lump in her throat. Once again she felt close to tears, but she wouldn't accept defeat. She couldn't. Not until she was close enough to touch him...close enough to place her hands very timidly over his chest and feel nothing there. Then she would have time to cry. Time to mourn. Time to hate herself forever for pushing him away when she knew full well that she couldn't stay apart from him if she tried. But that time was not now.

Not even knowing what she was doing, she groped the jungle floor blindly around her, dirt piling under her nails, and grabbed the biggest rock she could run her hands over. Claire didn't give herself time to think- time to question her actions. She just acted. Squinting, she focused on the back of the sobbing woman's skull, said a little prayer, and threw it with all her might. Gaping, she watched it fly through the air, connect, and fall to the ground in unison with the woman, bringing up a haze of dust as she hit the ground. The sound of her wailing instantly stopped.

"What the-?" Zeke jumped up, away from Bette, swatting at the dust in the air. "Show yourself!" He shouted until the cords showed in his neck, sweat practically poring from his brow. In this very moment, he looked like a madman. Like the embodiment of insanity.

So Claire did as he asked. Very calmly she walked out from her place of hiding, petite, little pistol pointed directly at him. She held it with both hands, eyes narrowed down its slick, metal body at him. It took all of her power not to break her gaze and look at Charlie, but she knew if she did she'd lose all focus completely. Who knows...if it was really bad, she might drop the gun completely and rush to his side. _And that, of course, would help no one,_ she gently reminded herself, breathing shallowly. "Step away from him right now, or I _will shoot."_

Before she could even revel in the look of defeat on his tired, worn face, she felt the horrible sensation of something small and hot on the small of her back. Something that felt very similar to the muzzle of a gun. And then a familiar, broken voice. "No..._you_ step away."

_----------------------------------_

He was laying belly up on the leafy ground, almost completely covered by the wild undergrowth as the midday sun stared directly down at him with all its mighty, awful gaze. John Locke looked at the sky around it, the way it rippled and sweltered like a mirage, and closed his eyes. He could feel the pain in his side but knew almost instantly that there was no entry wound. A good deal of blood, yes, but no bullet hole. _Just grazed, _he thought in an almost fragmented manner, grabbing the gun by his side and sitting up quickly, ignoring the bolt of protest near the base in his ribs.

"I'm getting tired of this," he spoke clearly to himself, standing up in the open space and pointing his gun at the redheaded Other who'd taken a little chunk out of his torso. There eyes connected, very swiftly, and Locke offered him a brief smile before shooting him in the stomach. He went down with a lurch. "You're welcome."

-----------------------------------

She didn't bother looking behind her. Claire knew very plainly who it was. "Freddy," she started calmly, dropping her gun and taking in an unsatisfying breath of stale, hot air. "Please think about what you're doing-"

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding more pathetic than she would've thought possible. "But I can't let you hurt him-"

Zeke didn't let him finish. Instead he advanced on both of them, head tilted forward and fists balled up at his sides. Once again, Claire didn't allow herself even a glance at the body on the ground, knowing she'd lose every sense of bravery and resolve in a matter of nanoseconds. No, she needed to save all her focus for the next following minutes. For they, she knew, would determine everything. "You idiot," he started lowly, staring past her forehead at Freddy.

Claire heard a sharp intake of breath behind her, followed by the softest of whimpers. "I-I didn't want to, Boss, but...they said they'd kill me, and I can tell she really cares about him. She's nice, Zeke, she really is! I don't understand why we have to _hurt_ people-"

"Of course you don't understand. You never understand_ anything! _The will of this island is too complex for you. _His _will is too complex for you. Even I don't understand it, so how could you _possibly_ begin to fathom what Jacob asks of us?"

_"Jacob?" _Claire spoke the name aloud without even meaning to. She was ignored by both of them.

"He told Ben to tell us to take the child. He told us to kill whoever we had to take the baby. We don't have time to question his requests or get muddled up in fear or doubt or, God forbid, _pity_! We always do as he says. It's as simple as that! But now you've ruined everything, haven't you? You _brought_ them to us." Zeke paused, seething through his nose. "But I suppose this is all still salvageable. More people just have to die this way." Finally, he narrowed his eyes at Claire, speaking in a very hollow voice. "Kill her. At this point we've already waged war. We'll just have to send an army to their camp tonight and take the baby by force."

A momentary pause.

"Well, do it already, you idiot."

Claire supposed death was coming, so she allowed herself to look down. There he was, lying very peacefully on the ground. She'd supposed he would look much worse than that, not to say he looked particularly good. His clothes were ripped to shreds and caked in dirt, half of his shirt and his jeans hard with dried blood, a little exposed circle of mangled flesh at his side. He looked like hell, that was for sure, but there was something oddly peaceful about his face that made her lip tremble with some emotion she couldn't pinpoint. Maybe it was the knowledge that she was about to die, too, that made all the panic and fear and dread float out of her like a vapor. Just as a last effort, she lunged weakly towards him, but Freddy held her back. Crying silently, she closed her eyes and waited for the sound of the gunshot to reach her ears- the sensation of something metal and foreign entering her spine.

That's when she heard the gunshot. But she didn't feel anything.

Nothing at all.

--------------------------------------------

_Just one left. _But he was a quick one. Jack didn't give himself any time for mental pats on the back or recognition of what he'd done; if anything, he just wanted to end this. Besides, Zeke was the one he really cared about, and if he was ever going to get to him he had to kill this nameless Other, and in a hurry, too. If he wanted the answers, that is.

_And I always want the answers. _ Part of him felt guilty when he paused to think about it...he'd came all this way under the ruse of saving Charlie, and in the back of his mind he really did care for the guy. Jack could remember it like it happened yesterday, being stuck in the rubble of the collapsed cave, watching the small, hooded figure worming closer and closer to him, that familiar loopy grin on his dirty face. Yes, Jack wanted to save him. Jack wanted to _fix_ him, for he knew without a doubt that if he were still alive, he'd need a good deal of fixing. But above all, there was that burning, overwhelming desire that shadowed everything else. He wanted to know _why. _Who gave the orders? Where did these people come from?

What was so special about this_ island?_

It was then that the last one rolled out from his spot of cover in the bushes and let out a spray of bullets at Locke, maybe ten feet away from Jack. He had a clean shot at him. Before even checking to see if Locke was okay, he smiled to himself and pointed the gun at the nondescript man with gray hair, shooting specifically for his chest; a vital point, so he'd go down like a pile of bricks. Jack knew the head would be the most effective, but even he couldn't bring himself to do that. He'd feel like an executioner or something. An assassin.

He took the shot. And just as he suspected, a little spurt of blood jumped out of the new hole in the man's chest and he fell down at once, a little flock of birds darting out of the tree branches behind him. Then, complete silence. Feeling accomplished, Jack allowed himself a second's recognition. That is, until Locke's voice brought him very roughly out of his reverie.

"Jack!" He opened his eyes in a bolt and looked at Locke, questioning. "Claire!"

And then he looked to the little patch of clearing maybe twenty feet away from them and saw it- Freddy with his gun lodged in Claire's back.

_"No-!"_

He blinked and heard a gunshot.

--------------------------------------------------------

Heart practically doing backflips in her chest, Claire very slowly opened her eyes, blinking thickly. The sensation of the gun on her back was gone, replaced by the aftermath of the gunshot ringing like an explosion in her ears. Timidly she looked up to see Zeke, eyes as wide as saucers, staring at a spot above her forehead, hands clutching at his stomach. And blood, pooling out and streaming between the spaces in his trembling fingers.

_"Freddy?"_

He fell down in a heap, dust leaping up into the air. Very numbly she heard Freddy drop his gun and rush forward, blocking Zeke from her view. But she didn't care about that right now. Not at all. Claire fell to her knees and crawled beside Charlie, tears already obscuring her vision and pouring down her hot face. She took his hand in both of hers, grits of dust and dirt locking in her fingers. "Charlie," she spoke clearly, swallowing a hitch in her throat. "Charlie, can you hear me? It's me...it's _Claire_."

He made no movement, and Claire panicked. For the first time in what seemed like awhile, she allowed herself to panic.

_"Charlie?" _She brought one hand to his cheek, cradling it, pushing the plastered, blonde hairs off of his temple. With a quick gulp of air, she decided she had to do it. Claire let her hand slide down his temple, past the curve of his cheek, over the sharp jut of his jawline, and over the side of his neck. Over all the cords, veins, and pulse-lines.

She let out a little shriek.

-----------------------------------------

Jack watched Zeke slump over and hit the jungle floor, hands grabbling at his stomach. He saw Freddy throw his gun to the ground and rush to his side, throwing his arms over him like a son to a father. And that was all Jack allowed himself to observe before grabbing his gun and running out into the open, the sound of Locke following him re-assuredly behind him. It took only moments to reach them.

"Back away from him, Freddy," Jack uttered roughly, gun pointed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Locke stand over the two of them briefly before rushing to Claire and Charlie, setting his gun to the ground. He wondered very dimly whether or not he was okay with a little trickle of blood staining the side of his tan shirt. He wondered very dimly if Charlie was alive, feet away and face up in the dirt. But those thoughts came and went quickly as Freddy looked up and shook his head, bottom lip jutting out like a small child who'd just done something very, very bad. "Do it, Freddy. I'm not going to hurt him. I just want to talk."

Finally and very slowly, he backed away from Zeke until he was completely in his view, exposed and huffing for air in the mercilessly bright sunlight. There wasn't anything frightening or even slightly fearful in his eyes. If anything he looked..._defeated, _Jack thought to himself, lowering the gun. The bearded man rubbed his flaking lips together and sighed, meeting his gaze very nonchalantly. Blood bubbled down the curved slump of his stomach. "What do you want, Jack?"

"I want to know everything, Zeke" Jack said, breathing loudly and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Who are you? Why are you doing this to us?"

The old man smiled, crescent-shaped wrinkles branching away from his mouth. "Because Jacob wills it. I don't ask questions when I know I won't understand the answers, Jack. And neither should you." He laughed and threw his bloodstained hands up. "It's all about faith!" The he coughed sharply and winced. "By the way, my name is Tom."

Outrage flared in Jack and he seethed. "Who is Jacob? Tell me, _who is he?" _Tom laughed again and Jack grabbed him by the collar roughly, bringing his face only inches away from his. _"Tell me!"_

Tom smiled and took in a strained, screaming breath. Jack could see blood on the inside of his lip. "Can't say I've ever met him." Then he closed his eyes for the last time.

_No....no, no, no, no._ Jack shook the old man, hands still gripping the frayed collar of his shirt. "No you don't," he uttered firmly, staring at his still, lined face. He let go of him at once and placed his hand on his neck, feeling around for a pulse. Nothing. Breathing sharply, he threw his face in his hands and peeked at Freddy through the gaps in his fingers. "Freddy....do you know who Jacob is?" Then, feeling more desperate than he could remember feeling in a long time, he half-crawled over to him and grabbed his shoulders, staring evenly and intensely at him. "Can you take me to Jacob?"

Freddy's eyes never left Tom. "I've never seen him either." Quietly, he stood up, looked around at Tom and Bette, and stalked off into the jungle, sniffling. No one followed him.

Jack watched Freddy walk away until he was nothing more than a shadow passing through the jungle, undistinguishable from the shade of the trees or the gaps in the sunlight. Then he looked down at Tom again, the deep red of his blood trickling away from his body, beads of it on the surrounding leaves. He wanted to scream. He wanted to _cry _almost, but for some reason he thought of Kate waiting for him back at the beach and a momentary calm washed over him. It was strange sometimes, how that happened...

But the calm didn't last for long. "Jack." He heard someone shout his name gruffly, and he turned around to see Locke's face, completely taken in a look of utter panic. "Jack, come here _right now."_

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**A/N: **Now for a dose of reality. I hate to be like this, but if I don't get reviews I don't have much motivation to finish this thing. I don't want to be the passive aggressive kid and say, "The more reviews I get, the more likely I'll keep going," but...I just said it. It's out there now. Really, though. If you enjoy this story and you want to see it end as much as I do, let me know you care by a friendly, neighborly review! I hate to call people out, but all those people who've favorited this story or put it on alert who've never reviewed...please do it just this once! I'm beggin' ya.

SO R&R! Unless you want me to die again for another 3 years! (AND YES THAT IS A THREAT)


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